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NAVAL CADET CARLYLE’S GLOVE 



IONA OAKLEY GORHAM 




^2 3 r^~' 


NEW YORK 

J. SELWIN TAIT AND SONS 

65 Fifth Avenue 


Copyright, 1894, by 
J. SELWIN TAIT AND SONS 


All rights reserved 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE’S GLOVE. 


CHAPTER I. 

Dinner at the bachelor mess of the — th Cavalry, 
quartered for the winter at Blanksville, South Carolina, 
is over. The colonel, by a special act of divine provi- 
dence a bachelor as Freddy Winston is wont to say, is 
leaving the room. The subs settle themselves for a 
smoke. Scarcely giving the colonel time to get out of 
earshot, they all turn eagerly to Freddy, who meets 
their gaze beamingly, and with a badly suppressed 
air of importance. 

“What is it, young one?” drawls Captain Parker. 
“ One can see, with half an eye, that you are literally 
bubbling over with news. If you don’t unburden your- 
self soon, I refuse to answer for the consequences.” 

“Yes, speak, youth! If you know of anything that 
will keep us from dying of ennui in this beastly hole, 
let us have it. Come,” says Hunter. 

Freddy manages to dispose of the enormous amount 
of pudding which he had unluckily taken before he ob- 
served the colonel was about to depart, and gasps: 
“ Miss Van Velssler has come.” 

“Is that your news?” murmurs Hunter in an injured 
tone. “ Why, that is old. Vince saw her this morning, 

5 


6 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE' S GLOVE. 


and told it in barracks before drill. Said he saw her 
standing on the Glenwood bridge. He rode by slowly 
enough to take her in from head to foot, and is ready 
to swear she wears a number one boot. Just like his 
impudence to have stopped and inquired the way home. 
He generally manages to speak to a pretty woman 
whether he knows her or not.” 

Freddy collapses after his little bomb hangs fire; 
finally he brightens — perhaps they have not heard it all. 

“Have you heard — ?” he hesitates and looks around 
pleadingly. But that he is regarded with suspicion is 
evident. They fail to be aroused. They say nothing, 
and he is confident that victory is his. “ Have you 
heard of the party to be given at Glenwood ?” he winds 
up triumphantly. 

“What! the old girl going to give a party! Never; 
don’t believe it, my boy; they are fooling you.” 

“Yes, she is though,” says Freddy, thoroughly re- 
vived now and warming to the subject. “ Got it from 
the best authority, the Bradley girls. What those 
young women don’t know — ” admiringly. 

“They know every one else’s business, certainly,” 
growls a man at the other end of the table. 

“It is funny,” says Captain Parker, as he stirs the 
shells on his plate, finally picks up a walnut and cracks 
it,“that in New York or a civilized country, one con- 
siders a ball a perfect bore; but here, where there are 
none, you fellows grow as excited over the prospect of 
a dance as a debutante over her first appearance. How- 
ever, I excuse you on the score that it is the little Van 
Velssler and not old Miss Carrol’s cards that is upset- 
ting your young selves.” 


NAVAL CADET CALL VLB’S GLOVE. 7 

“Quite right, learned sir,” says Hunter. “Jove! 
what a beauty she is. I’d like to see her when she 
is a few years older, when the savor of the schoolroom 
is entirely gone.” 

“ She is charming as she is,” says Parker. “ There is 
a tone about her that is thoroughly captivating; the 
kind of girl who is amusing without being fast, good 
without being dull — rare indeed,” with a sigh that leads 
one to believe that he is in the deepest woe that the 
average woman falls so far below his standard. “ One 
is so tired of the ingenue” he continues, “the baby 
stare makes me desperate; in fact, it has been worked 
to a finish. I had to take that Danton baby out to 
dinner at the Willets’ last evening. Her mouth was a 
round O the entire time; her eyes were stretched open 
wide, and had an expressionless stare in them that 
would have been invaluable to any poker player; she 
tossed her tumbled blond hair back, with a gesture 
that was so infantile that it suggested soothing syrup, 
from a brow that was very pretty to be sure, but I be- 
held all its beauties perfectly the first time, and the 
numerous others were a reckless expenditure of energy.” 

“But to return to the Van Velssler, why don’t you 
go in and win the prize, Parker?” says Freddy enviously. 

“ Me ?” with an indolent lifting of the long lashes 
which shade his gray eyes, that looks as if it cost him 
a great physical effort. “ Me ?” he questions again, 
depreciatingly. “ My dear boy, you flatter me — then 
think of the insufferable amount of trouble an "affaire’ 
would be in this beastly climate. Why don’t you try 
your own luck ?” 

“ That is right ; dangle the prize temptingly in front 


8 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


of my eyes, when you know it is tantalizingly beyond 
my reach. How can a poor devil of a second lieuten- 
ant expect to marry? Why,” indignantly, “my pay 
just keeps me in white gloves, and I am always up to 
my neck in debt. What on earth I’d do if it were not 
for my dear old governor, who comes to my rescue 
every now and then and sets me on my legs, I don’t 
know. Though how the poor old boy manages it, I 
can’t see. Well, I’d go to the bottom, that’s all — I 
will some day I suppose, and the sooner the better.” 

“ Hunter, reach me that wine bottle. The young one 
has had enough; he always has when he talks like 
that,” says Parker as he moves from his attitude of 
careless grace, and empties the contents of the bottle 
into his own glass. 

“No,” continues Freddy wrathfully, not deigning to 
notice the movement, “ it is only such as Parker, who 
is that rara avis a moneyed army man, who can afford 
to marry. A shame I call it to expect a gentleman to 
live on the mere pittance they allow us.” 

“You forget, Freddy, mon enfant^ that you always 
have the privilege of marrying an heiress. There is 
the Bristol — you have only to speak, and she and her 
millions are yours. Ye gods! imagine Freddy, our 
curled darling, sitting opposite ‘Miss Bones’ at the 
breakfast table forever. His appetite would be gone, 
and he would fade before our eyes. I say, old fellow, 
can’t you get her to adopt you, and make her will in 
your favor?” 

A laugh goes up from around the table. Freddy 
makes some reply, which would no doubt be crushing, 
but it is lost in the uproar. 


N-AVaL CAP£T CAJ^LYLE'S GLOVE. g 

“Gentlemen,” says a voice from the door. “Beg 
pardon, I forgot my glasses,” and with gentle dignity 
the colonel crosses the floor, picks up his property and 
again leaves the room. 

There is a silence for a moment after the door closes. 
They know how little of this thing — messroom gossip— 
it takes to arouse the wrath of the dear old colonel, 
who is, as they say, “ an all-round good sort, but the 
very mischief when he is thoroughly angered.” 

“ He is a good, old boy,” says Freddy, looking at the 
closed door; “and after all, he is right. Messroom 
gossip is a thing that ought to be frowned down by 
gentlemen, and it is a cowardly, contemptible thing to 
discuss women as we have been doing. Now, look 
here. Hunter, I want this dropped — all this rot about 
Miss Bristol. Do y’ hear?” and Freddy leaves the 
room and bangs the door after him. 

“ Such a mistake to excite one’s self in this climate,” 
says a man at the other end of the table. 

“ Yes, the weather is — ” Hunter stops for a metaphor. 

“ Devilish,” says Captain Parker sweetly, as he lights 
a cigar and steps out into the soft Southern air. 

It is the last of December, but the roses are in 
bloom, and across the dusty parade grounds comes the 
scent of oleander blossoms. It is like a night in June. 
Clyde Parker sets his cap slightly back ; the balmy wind 
raises his blond hair from his brow. Little blue rings 
of smoke from his cigar curl in front of him as he 
strolls along. He is one of the few handsome men 
who are eligible^ chaperons say, with a sigh. But up 
to date the gallant Captain has carefully eluded “ those 
fetters Cupid forges at Hymen’s altar.” Mammas and 


lO 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


chaperons frown at his short stays at his home in St. 
Louis, and whirl pretty girls — and heaven help him! 
often horribly ugly ones — off to Colorado for the sum- 
mer — when his regiment is stationed there; and said 
mammas and chaperons suddenly develop lung trouble 
and are ordered by the doctors, that one class of men 
who are thoroughly satisfactory and accommodating, 
to the sunny South, when he is there. 

There is a faint smile on his lips — lips that are full 
and red. Strange, he thinks, that he who has had the 
prize beauties of the last ten seasons thrown at his 
head, and has been pleased to flirt with them, and been 
amused at their masterful efforts to bring him seriously 
to their feet, that, after all, he, Clyde Parker, should be 
almost captivated by this little Southern girl, who has 
not even left school. Bah, the girl is only a pretty 
child,* and yet — 

Taps sound. Clear and shrill the bugle rings out on 
the warm night air. 

He tosses away his cigar, which has long since gone 
out unnoticed, and turns into his quarters. 


CHAPTER II. 


“You see, my dear Viva, the Carrols have been un- 
disputedly the representative people of South Carolina, 
but, as happens sometimes to old families, we have de- 
generated fearfully lately. We are literally at the end 
of our line. The finale has arrived. I have struggled 
and staved it off for years, but I can do so no longer, 
and we must face the worst as best we may. I am 
compelled to sell Glenwood — a wonder that all the 
dead and gone Carrols do not turn in their graves at the 
bare thought — for it is mortgaged up to the very win- 
dows; so you see there is nothing left for me to do but 
to go to Australia and marry a man I refused twenty 
years ago, but who, by some strange fatality, has writ- 
ten to me just now, when I need him. It has come -to 
this: that I must either accept this offer or make my 
own living, and a Carrol could not do that. Are you 
listening to me. Viva?” 

“Eh?” with a start. She is pondering on the awful 
catastrophe suggested by Miss Carrol, and thinking 
that if all the Carrols have turned in their graves, what 
an expense it would be to have them laid back respect- 
ably in their last resting-places, and what a calamity 
it is that it should have occurred at this inopportune 
moment, when the family exchequer is in such a de- 
plorable condition, and, after all, what an unfortunate 
thing it is to have been born a Carrol. 

11 


12 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


“Yes, auntie, you were saying — er — ” 

“I was saying,” continued Miss Carrol, with fearful 
emphasis, “ that it is very fortunate that you, who 
will have your own living to make, do not bear the 
family name. Since your mother made a fool of her- 
self and ran away with a vagabond artist — ” 

“Not another word about my father, auntie; I will 
not have it,” rising and facing Miss Carrol wrathfully 
— standing to do better battle for her loved one. 

“ Don’t be so plebeianly excitable, my dear; nothing, 
positively nothings shows low blood sooner than such 
outbursts of temper. That lack of repose comes from 
being allowed to tramp about with your vagabond 
father and associate with his Bohemian friends.” 

Viva is grasping the back of her chair; hot, blinding 
tears burn her eyes. She has to fight the old battle 
over again, though she knows it is useless to combat 
with such a foe, and she already bears many a scar 
from repeated conflicts, but the vision conjured up by 
the enemy’s last words effaces all her wrath, and car- 
ries her back to the old days — such happy days they 
were — when she and her handsome, debonair father 
wandered about, unfettered by home ties, on those 
sketching expeditions. There were winters on the 
Indian River, summers on the Jersey coast, and all life 
was beautiful. Ah, but there w^ere hard times too, 
when money w^as scarce, and want came uncomforta- 
bly near. But there were always friends worse off, and 
it was pleasant to help them. Then there were times 
when a stupid public saw fit to recognize real genius 
for a spell and buy a big picture; then they lived roy- 
ally, and she was queen of that goodly company — those 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


13 


careless, happy Bohemian friends of her father. The 
little Princess they called her. She is, at last, aware 
that Miss Carrol is speaking. 

“ I will pay for your last term at school and your 
commencement gown, and give you enough money to 
board you a month. After that I am not responsible for 
you. So if you fail to get your diploma, it is your own 
fault, and I wash my hands of you. I will have done 
my duty. I leave February first for my new home. I 
put it off a month so that you could have one more 
Christmas at Glenwood, and take your chances here. 
There is Captain Parker, the catch of the whole army. 
He raved over you when you were here for a short time 
in the summer. Of course he belongs to the fastest 
set in St. Louis, and would probably tire of you in a 
week; but he would continue to treat you with the def- 
erence and courtesy due the woman who bears his 
name; he would not quarrel with you because he would 
deem it bad form — death he considers a small punish- 
ment for one guilty of making a scene — and besides he 
is too inordinately selfish; a scene would hurt his sense 
of refinement. He would sue for a divorce if you 
dared appear before his friends in a toilet not per- 
fectly correct, and he is an authority on dress. Yes, he 
is painfully fastidious ; but then my dear, he is charming. 

“ There is Richard Baxter, who has some — in fact, a 
great deal of money, though I fear he is not very gen- 
erous. The roses he sent in the summer were not the 
best, and three out of the five books you wanted were 
evidently taken from his sister’s library, as they had 
her name upon them. I was on thorns for fear they 
would be lost — you are so careless with books — as, of 


14 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


course, they had to be returned to their rightful owner; 
besides he is horribly jealous, and jealous men are dan- 
gerous. One had just as well be indiscreet as to have 
one’s husband make a disgraceful scene. There will be 
fifty women who will say, ‘No doubt the man had 
cause ; where there is so much smoke, ct ccetera. ’ 
Those dark men, when they are not pleasant, are so 
very difficult. Yes, I would say that he is distinctly 
disagreeable, yet — . Then, as a last resort, there is 
that young idiot, Freddy Winston; perhaps he might do 
better than nothing.” [Oh, shades of the immortal 
— th cavalry, could your pet junior lieutenant hear that !] 
“ I am giving this party to-morrow night for your sake. 
/ have drawn up the forces; it is iox you to carry on the 
war. Leave me now. Lower that curtain ; there, that 
will do. See that Aunt Pinky irons your one good 
gown,” she calls after the retreating figure, and Miss 
Carrol settles herself complacently for a nap. 

Viva goes through the low window and seats herself 
on the old-fashioned veranda that runs all the way 
around the house. She edges her chair in the shadow 
of one of the great iron posts which support the upper 
porch. She is not shocked at this cold discussion of 
her marriage, only very much amused ; Miss Carrol did 
seem so terribly in earnest. She is not surprised that 
love is left out of her aunt’s reckoning; she has been 
told since earliest infancy that love makes up no part 
of life. Her father had said so, and his word was 
still her law. 

Poor Hugh Van Velssler’s romance died a hard 
and early death. He was a happy, careless fellow, 
living only for his art, when ill luck brought him to 


NAVAL CADET CALL VLB'S GLOVE. 15 

the neighborhood of Glenwood. He was painting in 
the woods one day, when he first saw pretty, foolish, 
little May Carrol. She was running at full speed down 
the lane, with her big dog at her heels. He after- 
ward painted her as he saw her that day, with her fair 
hair falling, her baby lips parted, her tiny hand out- 
stretched, as Daphne flying from Apollo. 

They met one evening at the rectory. He was an 
artist, and her beauty stirred the depths of his passion- 
ate soul; he fell madly in love with her. There were 
sweet stolen meetings under the honeysuckle arbors, 
when all Glenwood was still; and meetings down by 
the river, where he made her a throne of bluebells, 
when she was supposed to be studying botany with her 
governess. Well, it was the old story: they ran away 
and were married. Her father never forgave her, but 
left his mortgaged estates and debts to his oldest 
daughter — the second daughter was the wife of a New 
York millionaire — when he died, shortly after. Pretty, 
weak little May was not of the stuff of which heroines 
are made; she soon grew tired of the wandering life 
and longed for the elegance of her proud old Southern 
home. She woke up to the fact that life was not a 
bluebell bower, with a handsome sweetheart in a vel- 
vet painting coat at her feet; that there were such pro- 
saic things on this mundane sphere as butchers’ bills, 
and alas! unpaid ones. Finally she tearfully upbraided 
her husband for what she termed taking advantage of 
her youth and ignorance to delude her into such a mar- 
riage. This stung him, highstrung and sensitive as 
he was, to the quick. His artist friends, who dropped 
off from visiting him one by one, used to say, “ Mrs. 


i6 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

Van is a woman who can make it, all round, deucedly 
unpleasant when she tries.” These terrible domestic 
storms made a painful impression on the childish mind 
of little Viva, and when she was eight years old her 
mother fretfully resigned her useless life, to her own 
relief and that of every one else. So Hugh Van Velssler 
grew very bitter on this subject — love marriages. His 
disposition was too sweet to spoil utterly, and he 
taught his little daughter not to be blinded by love, not 
to throw away her life for a passion, which he assured 
her would only last, at best, a few weeks. Had he not 
loved madly, romantically; and had his love not settled 
down from bare tolerance to almost hate ? 

Miss Carrol said it was the one good thing he had 
done in his life. Nothing might have been expected of 
him but that he would fill her head with nonsense and 
allow her to marry a vagabond like himself. 

Her father was wont to say: “Marry a good man, 
my daughter; one who is congenial, your best friend 
if possible, and above all one who is in your own 
circle, and one you can be proud of, and who can take 
good care of you ; for believe me, grinding poverty 
and happiness cannot go hand in hand, and you will 
get as much enjoyment out of life as falls to the lot 
of mortals here below.” 

He died three years ago, and Miss Carrol reluc- 
tantly took Viva to live with her, and spent what money 
she could upon this niece who was thrust upon her; for 
oh! the Carrols are not stingy. But with every gift 
came a little pin prick. She was reminded twenty times 
a day that the father she loved so fondly was a ne’er- 
dp-well, and had left her destitute. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 17 

Viva sits now in the sunlight, revelling in it, till her 
Titian hair seems all aglow. The future does not hold 
much terror for her. vShe has youth, strength, and 
perfect health, and far better than all the world, youth’s 
golden crown — Hope. That is what makes youth 
beautiful to behold. It is not alone rounded cheeks, 
bright eyes and bewildering forms, but it is that re- 
freshing something that is there before experience 
comes and, with cruel hand, robs the cheek of its 
bloom, makes the eye furtive and suspicious, makes the 
impulses slower and less generous. When hope is gone, 
youth too has flown. Ah, youth, surely you are a 
priceless dower! 

2 


CHAPTER III. 


It is the night of Miss Carrol’s ball. The old man- 
sion of Glenwood is lighted from the ground to the turret. 
No attempt at extensive decoration has been made. 
The broad windows are thrown open, and through them 
comes the scent of the sweet old-fashioned garden 
flowers. Captain Parker and the men from the post 
have sent quantities of cut flowers, but Viva has put 
them in simple, loose bunches in painted bowls on the 
centre tables. The broad colonial hall, with its great 
fireplace at the end, and its hard, polished floor is 
used for dancing. In the long drawing-room, with its 
worn black furniture, stands Miss Carrol, gowned in 
her best black silk, and falls of point lace at her throat, 
fastened with a huge diamond star. A thorough aris- 
tocrat she looks, from her soft gray hair, piled high on 
her head, to her dainty. Southern foot, encased in its 
tiny velvet slipper. The whole countyside is present. 

“ Egad, it looks like oldtimes — Christmas festivities 
at Glenwood once more,” says an old beau. 

Bunches of mistletoe hang from the chandelier to 
remind one it is Christmas, and not June, as one would 
judge by the thermometer. The darkey musicians are 
seated at the end of the hall, led by Uncle Josh, 
“Marse Carrol’s fav’rit fiddler,” as he is wont to say 
proudly. The half plaintive, wholly delightful music — 

i8 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 19 

there is always a timbre of sadness in a negro’s playing — 
fills the room. It is altogether a pleasing picture. An 
air of wholesome enjoyment pervades the entire scene. 
It strikes Captain Parker forcibly as he stands in the 
door a moment before entering. He has spoken to 
Miss Cai'rol, whose attention is taken up now with 
Freddy, and then hurries forward to where Viva is 
standing under the chandelier. 

If she had studied the effect, she could not have 
chosen a more advantageous spot in which to show off 
her beauty. An older girl would have preferred the 
more kindly shade of the corners, but the full glare of 
the lamps brings out the dazzling whiteness of her neck 
and arms, and sends little gleams of light from her 
hair. Her gown is white mull with quantities of old 
lace — lace unearthed from a chest in the attic. 

Freddy has reached her before Captain Parker, who 
has stopped to admire the picture she makes, and has 
audaciously taken three waltzes on her card. She is 
looking up into his eyes, the position showing the perfect 
contour of her face and the superb lashes. 

“Please don’t give him all he has the effrontery to 
ask for. Miss Van Velssler, or the rest of us will be 
forced to put him out of the way to secure a waltz 
with you,’’ says Clyde, bowing before her. 

“How do you do, Captain Parker? I saved the first 
waltz for you, but I began to think you were not com- 
ing.’’ 

He smiles and looks admiringly down into her laugh- 
ing eyes. 

“Jove! is it coquetry, or did she really know I had 
not come ?’’ he wonders, as he hastily scribbles his name. 


20 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


Well, whatever it is, it is very pleasant, and he gives 
himself up to it. 

“ The music has begun, and every note we are not 
dancing is a clear loss,” he says, as he puts his arm 
lightly about her. 

“ They drift down the hall together, 

He smiles in her lifted eyes ; 

Like the waves of that mighty river, 

The strains of the ‘ Danube ’ rise. 

They float on in rhythmic measure, 

Like leaves on a summer’s stream ; 

Through the cloud of her Titian tresses. 

Like a star shines out her face, 

And the form his strong arm presses 
Is sylph-like in its grace.” 

Is that sulky individual standing there gazing after 
them Freddy, the life of his regiment? Surely not. 

“ That was splendid, the time was perfect,” Viva says 
as they stop in front of a window. 

“ Yes,” he answers, “ but disgracefully short. Ah, 
a fan, I see,” appropriating it. “I hope the young 
woman to whom it belongs won’t need it,” he says, 
with a laugh. 

There is only one chair visible; she seats herself and 
looks up at him as he stands beside her, waving the 
fan he has purloined to and fro. 

“Oh, it is all so delightful; and to think that to- 
morrow I must go back,” she says with a little sigh. 

“Surely you are not going back so soon! Why,” 
ruefully, “you have only just come.” 

“Yes, I know, but Richmond, unfortunately, is not 
very near here, and I must leave in time to arrive for 


NAVAL CADET CAELYLE^S GLOVE. 


21 


the examinations, else I cannot receive my diploma, 
and that means very much to me, you know,” frankly. 

Delightful! This grows more interesting! Beauty 
in distress. He bends lower over her, and thinks what 
a difference there is between them. The money he 
idly, carelessly throws away would keep this fragile 
girl in luxury. The idea of her — why, she is a mere 
baby — grinding her butterfly life away as a teacher. 
Ugh! the thought is repulsive to him. 

He is seized with a temptation, for the first time in 
his life, to make love seriously to a woman. He gives 
himself up gladly to the delightful madness. If a grain 
of his old philosophy thrusts itself forward, he scorns 
to notice the dawning of reason. She is the first wo- 
man who has looked straight into his eyes in a moment 
like this. The others have lowered their lids from real 
or affected embarrassment — -he has never taken the 
pains to find out which — when they met his too ardent 
gaze. After all, he reasons with himself, why not? 
He must marry some day, the gossips have always as- 
sured him, and she is beautiful and high-bred. He 
controls himself with a mighty effort. To make love 
to the woman he expects to marry in a crowded ball 
room, where others may read her face, offends his 
taste; to detain her longer from her guests is out of 
the question. 

“ What time do you leave?” he finally asks. 

“To-morrow afternoon at four.” 

“Then will you permit me to call in the morning? 
ril more probably find you disengaged then,” with a 
suggestive glance at Freddy, who is glaring at them 
from a neighboring doorway. “Will you,” he waits till 


22 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


she ties the ribbon on her bouquet, then forces her to 
look at him, and continues, “ will you receive me at 
such an unearthly hour as ten, and — ?” 

“ There he is now, ” says Miss Bradley, bringing her 
partner to a stop before them. “ Captain Parker, 
what do you mean by not coming to claim your dance ? 
The set is forming, and Mr. Hunter is anxious to drop 
me and find his next partner. Come on.” 

He remembers that yesterday at guard mount he was 
duffer enough to ask Emma Bradley to dance; she was 
the only woman in sight. Strange that he never no- 
ticed before how loud and unladylike her voice was. 
Heavens! what bad form she is altogether. Poor 
Emma goes through the quadrille all unconsciously, 
and enjoys herself thoroughly. She is not finestrung 
enough to discover that she is not in touch with her 
unusually silent partner. 

Viva still sits where Clyde left her. Finally, com- 
pelled by a force she does not take the trouble to resist, 
she raises her eyes; they fall upon the gloomy visage 
of Richard Baxter. He looks at her with keen disap- 
proval and does not deign to notice her smile. 

“Sulky,” thinks Viva. She raises the fan Captain 
Parker gave her as he went off with his partner, and 
calls the gloomy knight to her. “Why are you not 
dancing?” she asks sweetly. 

“ I am getting too old for that nonsense,” grumpily. 

“ Oh, you miss a great deal by not dancing. I love 
it,” with a friendly little glance, but he notices she 
does not disagree with him that he is too old, and so 
refuses to be appeased. 

“I do not approve of it,” with growing wrath, his 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 23 

dusky brows nearly meeting in a frown. “ I shall for- 
bid my wife to dance,” warming to the subject. 

“Clearly, he is best let alone,” thinks Viva, and giv- 
ing Freddy the nod of encouragement he has been wait- 
ing for, he comes jubilantly up to her. As she takes 
his arm, she looks over her shoulder and says with 
wicked sweetness, “ I hope you will change your mind, 
Mr. Baxter, and ask me to dance.” 

“ He looked as if he was going to eat you,” Mr. Bax- 
ter hears Freddy say, as he tucks her hand in his arm 
with an exasperatingly protective air, and leads her 
down the room. “ I was waiting to rush valiantly to 
your rescue.” 

Viva laughs from sheer light-heartedness. 

Mr. Baxter looks after her a moment, grinds his teeth 
together, thrusts open the lace curtains, then goes 
across the balcony and down the steps, and, to Freddy’s 
intense delight, Banquo’s ghost, as he terms him, is 
seen no more that evening. 

“Your niece is certainly a beautiful girl,” says a 
mother, who having comfortably disposed of her last 
lamb can be generous. 

“ Yes, Viva is very pretty, though she has not been 
presented to society yet, you know. We are so infor- 
mal here, you see, that I let her come down for to- 
night,” says Miss Carrol, the ruling passion strong in 
death. For though this last daughter of the Carrols 
will never, in all human probability, be “ presented to 
society,” but in a few months will be dragging out her 
life in a dingy schoolroom, pounding verbs into the 
heads of a lot of stupid children. Miss Carrol does not 
feel called upon to say so. 


24 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


After she has gone they can say what they like, but 
now she will have none of their sympathy, genuine or 
sham, and with a haughty little gesture of impatience 
with herself, she turns to her guests. 

The ball, this last triumph of the Carrols, is a suc- 
cess certainly. It is like the last night of the reign of 
an unfortunate sovereign. The proud, gracious mis- 
tress of Glenwood exerts herself to crowd as much en- 
joyment as possible into the few remaining hours. She 
is constantly surrounded by an admiring little court. 
Her eyes flash and sparkle with almost the fire of 
youth. Her brilliant wit keeps her subjects on the qui 
vive for response. She determines that the country- 
side shall remember her last ball. The lights shine 
down upon her patrician face, flushed and animated ; 
on the slender jewelled hand that gracefully waves a 
big feather fan. She finds time once or twice to won- 
der what that tiresome niece of hers is doing — exactly 
the reverse of the proper thing, no doubt. But she 
cannot give up her court to look after Viva. This 
night is hei's., and she means to enjoy it. She has 
stated the case plainly to Viva, and if she chooses to 
let her opportunities slip through her fingers, — well, it 
is her own fault. Miss Carrol decides with a shrug. 

At last it is over. They have all gone, the quaint 
dear old chaperons, in their rich laces, and diamonds 
in settings which were fashionable half a century ago; 
the old beaux with their oldtime gallantries, and 
courtly bo7i 7nots; the pretty girls in their dainty even- 
ing gowns, and the young officers. 

Miss Carrol stands for a moment, after she has bid- 
den the last guest good-by, with a smile on her lips. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


25 


She suddenly comes back to the unpleasant present, 
and glances toward a sofa, wh^re Viva sits, her hands 
clasped behind her head, her bare arms looking whiter 
than ever against the black velvet cushions. There is 
a troubled look on the usually piquante face. She is so 
fond of gayety and of making other people happy, and 
to-night she fears she has unwittingly inflicted a mortal 
blow upon a fellow being. 

“ Well ?” Miss Carrol breaks in upon her reflections, 
after gazing at her expectantly for a moment. 

“Well?” repeats Viva, raising her violet eyes and 
turning them full upon her inquisitor. 

“ Of course, I do not want to force your confidence,” 
says Miss Carrol haughtily, “ but I think it would be 
hardly worth your while to keep me in the dark. 
Freddy proposed to you, I believe.” 

“Mr. Winston asked me to marry him, auntie.” 

“ And you ?” 

“ I refused him.” 

Miss Carrol is aghast for a second, until she remem- 
bers how Captain Parker looked at Viva at parting, 
and his whispered, “I’ll see you in the morning.” Of 
course he would hardly feel called upon to ride over 
simply to say good-by to a school-girl, unless he is very 
much impressed, and intends to lay his hand and check- 
book at her feet. Yet a whispered word, a caressing 
glance from such a notorious flirt as Clyde Parker may, 
after all, only mean that he cannot resist making him- 
self a degree more than conventionally agreeable to a 
beautiful woman. She half regrets Viva’s lack of di- 
plomacy in not dangling Freddy in suspense. Still, it 
is no affair of hers. Che $ai'a sara. 


26 


NAVAL CADE 7' CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


“ I suppose, of course, you know what you arc 
about, my dear, but that fascinating sinner Parker is 
very uncertain.” 

“ Good-night, auntie. Your ball was very pretty,” is 
all she answers, as she picks up her bedroom candle 
and goes wearily upstairs. 

For the first time she is brought face to face with the 
horror of the situation. How dreadful it is to be 
thrown at the head of every man she meets. What if 
some of them suspect it ? Her womanhood rebels bit- 
terly at the insult of it. Her delicate body trembles 
from head to foot. She pulls the window down with a 
little shiver; the night has grown chilly, and replacing 
her white ball gown with a peignoir she seats herself by 
the open fireplace and thinks. 

Try as she will, she cannot banish the memory of 
Freddy Winston’s face when he left her to-night in 
the conservatory. She had spoken to him so gently, 
but how dreadful it was to see his bright, boyish face 
grow so set and hard, and how he crushed her hand at 
parting. See, he has broken the little friendship ring 
her school-fellow gave her! 

The embers are fast dying out and turning to ashes. 
Something pulls at the tassel on her little wigwam 
slipper of soft blue kid. 

“Poor little kitten,” she says, picking up the tiny 
specimen. “Are you waiting for your bed? Dis- 
gracefully late for us to be up — quite dissipated we are 
growing on the strength of being grads. Kitty, what 
would you do, and oh, little cat, what will become of 
us?” with a sob as she squeezes it to her breast. 

The kitten cries out in pain, and as she apologetically 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


27 


strokes it and puts it down, it runs and ^.urls itself into 
a fluffy ball of white in the little blue slipper just dis- 
carded. 

After a useless attempt to stir the dying embers 
into a final blaze, Viva slips between the lavender- 
scented sheets. 

Below, the lights are out. All is still. The Carrols 
have entertained for the last time at Glenwood; their 
reign is over; they have passed into history. 


CHAPTER IV. 


It is the morning after the ball. Last night “a 
norther” blew up, and to-day the air is crisp and de- 
lightful, seeming twice as invigorating after the warm 
weather of yesterday. The birds nestle down in the 
branches and twitteringly wonder what has come to 
them. 

Viva goes down the path leading to the river. A 
very pretty Viva she is, gowned in a close-fitting 
golden brown serge; a large hat of brown velvet, with 
a dash of yellow on it somewhere, droops over her eyes. 
She stops to button her cloth jacket, and gathers a 
bunch of yellow chrysanthemums and fastens them on 
her breast, as she trips gayly down the path. 

At eighteen, one’s troubles vanish with the shadows 
in the corners in one’s bedroom at the dawn, chased 
away by the glad light of day. 

“ Ah, Miss Viva, you are out early after your dissi- 
pation of last night,” says Judge Vane, the family law- 
yer, stopping her in the path. 

“Early, is it? I don’t know. A long course of 
boarding-school, where we are up with the blithesome 
lark, and button our boots by the dim candle-light, 
makes this seem delightfully, naughtily late,” she says 
brightly. 

“You don’t look as if you had danced till the wee 
small hours,” looking kindly down into her face. “Ah, 

28 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 29 

well, youth can follow the hounds all day over a 
mountainous country, and dance all night', and be none 
the worse for wear. If this weather lasts, we’ll have 
some jolly hunting next week. I wish you could stay 
with us, little one.” 

“ Yes, I would like to ride across country with you 
once more, but I never will again,” sadly. 

“Tut, tut, you’ll cover yourself with glory at col- 
lege, marry a millionaire, who will buy Glenwood, and 
you’ll continue to worry us half to death,” says the old 
Judge crossly, to hide the feeling in his voice. 

“Thank you any way for your kind wishes,” giving 
him her hand. He takes it and presses it between 
both his own. 

“ My dear, I hope you will not consider it imperti- 
nence — surely, I am a friend of sufficient standing to say 
that — er — well, the truth is, don’t you think you are a 
little unkind to my friend Baxter?” 

“Ahem, he has evidently sent the poor old Judge to 
sound the ground for him,” thinks Viva. If there is 
anything a woman has a contempt for, it is a man who 
lacks the manhood to stand up bravely before her and 
tell her he loves her and ask her to become his wife, 
running the risk of a possible no. If he shows himself 
so lacking in courage, how can she venture to trust 
herself to his care ? She says aloud, however, “ Has he 
been complaining of me to you ? You are too good a 
lawyer to condemn with only one side of the case 
stated,” as she dances along by his side. 

“Oh, no, he has not said anything.” 

“ What ?” wheeling round and facing him, her eyes 
full of mischieT 


30 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE' S GLOVE. 

“Well — er — that is not 7nuch^" says the poor old 
man, stopping short, and uneasily shifting to the other 
side of the path. 

Miss Van Velssler eyes him with sternness. He will 
not meet her gaze. 

“ And you listened to him, let him say bad things of 
me. No doubt he said I was a flirt or something else 
dreadful. Oh, Judge, I would not have thought it of 
you !” 

Her victim looks so uncomfortable that she laughs 
merrily. 

“ Did you really think I could be angry with you a 
second, you darling? Let me give you a flower. 
There,” pinning one of her yellowest chrysanthemums 
on his coat. “Now you are complete; ‘one touch more 
would mar your perfect beauty.’ ” 

“Jove, if I were twenty years younger I would not 
want some one to propose to the little witch for me,” 
thinks Judge Vane. However he feels it his duty to 
go on. “ But, my dear, Baxter is such a good fellow ; 
he means well. I assure you a kind heart beats under 
that rough exterior. And then. Viva dear, he is so 
very wealthy,” he winds up shamefacedly. 

“ Horrible !” laughs she. “ Who would have thought 
that under such a benign ‘exterior’ you were such a 
mercenary old wretch? Oh, how one can be deceived!” 

“You see, dear, you are such a child, and if the worst 
comes — ” 

“Well, if the worst comes, and I am starving, you’ll 
share a crust with me, eh? Just for old times’ sake!” 

“You are welcome to everything I have, you know 
that, only it is so pitifully little to offer,” sadly, 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLN S GLOVE. 31 

“but if ever you need me, if ever I can do anything for 
you, you will let me know at once? Promise me. 
Viva.” 

“Oh, yes. I’ll wire you as a last extremity before I 
pawn my jewels, as they say.” This lightly, to conceal 
the struggle she is making to keep back the tears. “ Now 
go in and see auntie. I have kept you long enough.” 

“ What shall I say to Baxter, if I should happen to see 
him?” begins the Judge, vainly imagining that he is 
wonderfully diplomatic. 

“Tell him I am sorry he was such a bear last night,” 
Viva replies, with a laugh, as she disappears down the 
path. 

“Heaven keep her always as gay and happy,” he 
says, as he takes off his glasses and wipes the moisture 
from them. 

Clyde Parker is walking hurriedly toward Glenwood. 
Is he too early? Will she be ready to receive him? 
What will she say ? He who has always been so inso- 
lently sure of success is uncertain now; for the first 
time in his life, my lord is pleased to make a very 
modest estimate of himself. She is such a beauty, and 
all the fellows are wild over her, perhaps — bah, “ faint 
heart, et cceter a.'" He lifts his haughty head, and turns 
into the road leading to Glenwood. 

Few women could resist him, with that fire in his 
beautiful eyes, that firm determination written on his 
perfect lips, that grand, masterful air about him. All 
women, even the most high-spirited, like masterful 
men — not one, of course, who is pettily tyrannical, but 
one who, while gracefully courteous, simply wills and 
she obeys. 


32 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


Captain Parker stops suddenly at the gate; there 
stands Freddy, furiously trying to open it. But, alas, 
Freddy’s hand is very unsteady. He has clearly been 
trying to drown his sorrow. Captain Parker gazes in 
astonishment at the wild eyes, the fair, dishevelled hair, 
the flushed facQ. He is too amazed to speak. 

Freddy glares at him. How he hates him, all the 
more because he has worshipped him with the adora- 
tion a boy sometimes has for an older man. He has 
considered Clyde an authority on everything from 
horses and dress up; he has made a hero of him; and 
above all he has been so proud of the rather unusual 
friendship, he himself being only a second lieutenant. 
But now all is changed. The idol is his rival, and he 
would give worlds to see him humbled to the very dust 
before the woman both have unluckily chosen to call 
upon at the same time. 

“Good heavens, Winston, what does this mean?” 
says Clyde, as soon as he recovers his presence of mind. 

“What do you suppose it means?” he answers hotly. 
“ Though it is none of your business. I’ll tell you. You 
are going to do Miss Van Velssler the honor of offering 
her your hand, and are furious that 1 am ahead of you. 
Not that I stand any show,” growing more wrathful as 
he thinks of the possible, nay probable, success of the 
other. “But that don’t hinder me from trying. I am 
not such a fool as that Baxter, who left the ball room 
last night because she gave me a smile. The way to 
win a woman is by constantly asking her, and if she 
says no to me a hundred times I’ll keep on asking her,” 
tearing at the gate. 

“ Look here, Winston, don’t be a fool. You are ia 


naval CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


33 


no condition to present yourself to Miss Van Velssler. 
Go back to barracks at once,” laying his hand on the 
shoulder of the young madman and trying to force 
him away. 

“ Let me alone,” fiercely. “ That is right. I like to 
see you afraid for me to try first. It gives me hope. 
I tell you fifty like you could not keep me from her 
now.” 

“Winston,” his face pale with suppressed rage that 
would have completely cowered a sober man, “don’t 
you dare to enter that gate.” 

“ Oh, the fascinating captain fears his lieutenant, eh ? 
You urge me on — buoy me up with wild hope. We are 
both in the uniform; why don’t you put me under ar- 
rest? You are my superior officer. Ha, ha, it would 
take your whole troop, 7non capita7i.,'' as he flings open 
the gate and rushes up the walk. 

“You are a disgrace to the uniform,” mutters Cap- 
tain Parker, as he strides after the young idiot to cap- 
ture him. It will be an easy matter to secure him be- 
fore he comes in view of the house. Captain Parker 
thinks. 

Viva is sitting in the tennis court. As Freddy 
catches sight of her, he darts across the lawn, Clyde 
close behind. 

“Oh,” she thinks grimly, “unfortunate that both my 
chances,” with a little shudder at the word, “should 
materialize at the same time.” 

Before she can rise, Freddy is before her. She be- 
comes aware that something is radically wrong. 
Freddy has lost his cap in the struggle at the gate; the 
rapid walk has flushed his face to a greater extent. 


34 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


Captain Parker reaches out and lays his hand heavily 
on Freddy’s shoulder. He is very pale, his breath 
comes quick and hard. He does not even glance at 
Viva. 

“ Miss Van Velssler, we have both come to propose 
to you,” gasps Freddy, struggling to get away from his 
captor, “and I am determined to speak first.” 

Viva rises to her feet; her flowers fall from her lap; 
she gazes mutely at Freddy. Her first thought is terri- 
ble, bitter indignation against them both. Then she 
glances at Captain Parker and sees the awful battle he 
is doing with himself; she understands the conflict go- 
ing on within him ; sees the anger, contempt, passion, 
he restrains by a mighty effort. She realizes the situa- 
tion perfectly, at last, and instinctively draws nearer 
to him. 

“Believe me. Miss Van Velssler, I would have spared 
you this insult if I could,” Clyde says, his voice trem- 
bling with suppressed emotion. “ If there is anything 
of the gentleman left in you, you will apologize and 
leave at once,” he says to Freddy, as he gives him a 
shake and forces him to look at him. 

That fierce, penetrating gaze and Viva’s shrinking 
seem to sober Freddy; he pulls himself together with 
a gasp and looks piteously at Clyde. 

“I didn’t mean to be such a brute,” says Freddy, 
his boyish voice husky with wine. “ I will not ask you 
to forgive me, Miss Van Velssler. You could not par- 
don my conduct — only please be as generous as you 
can.” He stoops and picks up one of her flowers and 
thrusts it in his mess-jacket. 

‘‘Words cannot say how 5orry I am,” says Clyde, 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


35 


taking her hand and looking down into her eyes. He 
does not trust himself to say anything more, not that 
he fears another outburst from Freddy — he, poor fel- 
low, is too crushed to hurt a fly — but it is, of course, 
impossible to speak to her now. It would be the worst 
possible taste. Later in the day he will return and 
bear Freddy’s apologies, and ask her to be his wife. 

“ I know,” she says. “ I do not blame you — and tell 
him I know he is sorry, and — ” her voice trembles and 
the little hand that tries to open her coat-collar is un- 
steady. 

Captain Parker hears some one approaching from the 
opposite path, and half drags, half carries Freddy, who 
seems unable to help himself, across the lawn. 

Outside the gate, they stop and look at each other. 

“Your conduct, sir, is exceedingly becoming to an 
officer and a gentleman. You are a credit.^ certainly, to 
your regiment and the service,” says Captain Parker, 
and each word stings like a lash. 

“Don’t,” with a shudder. “Oh, Parker, why didn’t 
you stop me? Why didn’t you shoot me, if nothing 
else would do? I’d rather a thousand times have died 
than to have had it happen. It was awful! I’ll never 
forget her face. It was that cursed drink. I was mad 
last evening when she refused me, and left the room 
intending to go home, when I concluded to stop a 
moment on the balcony, to get another look at her. 
In a few moments she came by with you, and from the 
way she looked into your eyes I knew it was all over 
with me. I had gotten leave for three days before I 
knew of the party, so I did not have to go back to 
barracks, but went to the village inn, and— well, the 


36 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

Stuff got to my head somehow, and you know the 
rest.” 

The village stage is passing, and fortunately empty. 

Captain Parker hails it. 

“ To the barracks, and double fare if you do not stop 
on the way,” he says to the driver. 

They get in. Freddy covers his face with his hands, 
and utters not a word during the drive. Captain 
Parker leans back, closes his eyes, and gnaws his 
golden mustache furiously. It would all be so laugh- 
able were it not so tragic. It is revolting to his fas- 
tidious taste. He hates ridicule, nothing hurts him so 
much. Life would be positively unbearable if it should 
get out among the fellows. He simply could not 
stand it. It would be impossible to live through the 
chaff. Bah ! no woman is worth being made ridiculous 
for. Of course he owes it to his regiment to present 
himself to the young woman in question and apologize 
for an almost unpardonable rudeness offered by one of 
his officers, but — 


CHAPTER V. 


Viva sinks down in the garden chair as they leave 
her, and clasps her hands so tightly on her knee that 
the tips of her fingers become numb. She has never 
been so hurt, so mortified in her life before. Ah, Miss 
Viva, wounded vanity is a terrible thing. Only just 
now she felt so sorry for a man, who, as it turns out, 
consoles himself for her loss by getting into a drunken 
broil. James, the under stable boy, would not have 
been guilty of such a thing. And that he, that other, 
should have witnessed her humiliation, — oh, therein is 
the sting! It is so sweet to every good woman to feel 
that she is the inspiration of the man who loves her, 
that he is better for having known and loved her. 

“Papa and auntie are right about it, after all," she 
thinks as she goes into the house. 

Another witness there had been to the scene, of whom 
she does not know. 

Richard Baxter had determined not to go to Glen- 
wood to-day. In fact, he had not risen in the best of 
humors. His breakfast had been late, an unpardona- 
ble sin in his eyes; that duffer of a butler had misplaced 
his morning paper; his mail was unsatisfactory; he 
moved about his place restlessly; found fault with the 
gardener, dismissed a groom for a trifling offence, and — 
oh, dire thought! — felt himself yielding to an overpow- 
ering impulse to go to Glenwood. He who has always 

37 


38 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


prided himself upon his strength, his hold upon his pas- 
sions! No one has ever accused Richard Baxter of a 
weakness, and here his iron will was melting before a 
slip of a girl who did not seem overhonored at his con- 
descensions heretofore. Well, perhaps she did not 
know he was in earnest. He decided that he would go, 
after all, and lay his hard-earned and grudgingly spent 
thousands at her feet. He felt better after being over 
with the struggle. No doubt her manner was coquetry, 
to draw him on. Certainly the niece of Miss Car- 
rol would know better than to refuse him. He took a 
short cut through his woods. Here he would build a 
dancing pavilion, not that she should dance — no, he’d 
veto that — but she must entertain as becomes the wife 
of Richard Baxter, and if the jackanapes wanted to 
dance, let ’em. He would fix up the old place, it 
needed it badly any way, and people would point to it 
with pride and say: “That is the home of Richard 
Baxter; his wife is the most beautiful woman in the 
county.” 

He came up the path where Viva had just been. 
Miss Carrol saw him from her window. 

“Ah, I thought so,” she said complacently. “Viva 
is on the lawn. He will stop and speak to her first. 
I, of course, need not know he is here, since I have 
not been informed of it. It is just as well, since 
Parker is non est — I had my doubts of him,” and she 
drew her chair close to the fire and opened her novel. 

From the rose arbor he had witnessed the scene 
just enacted. That the woman he had chosen to 
honor with the offer of his hand should be placed in 
such a position was maddening. He saw the involun- 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 39 

tary movement she made towards Captain Parker. To 
Baxter it seemed as if she wanted to show him her trust 
and confidence. He refused to look upon it as the 
natural action of a girl, who would seek any refuge 
from so unpleasant a position. That upward glance 
of hers filled him with rage. He was fairly consumed 
with jealousy. The offence was all the greater be- 
cause it was an army man who received it. 

“ I could not look a man in the face, knowing he 
was taxed to pay for the gewgaws on my coat, and to 
support me in idleness,” he once told Viva. 

The cool self-possession, the faultless attire, from his 
well-fitting boots to his perfectly brushed hair, of the 
one enraged him as much as the pitiable, dishevelled 
condition of the other filled with him with loathing and 
contempt. He was too choked to speak, if he had 
wanted to do so. He stood while Captain Parker made 
the apology as best he could, saw him hold her hand 
for what seemed an interminable age, then shutting 
tight his long dark hands, he strode down the path he 
had come. 

Miss Carrol’s interest in her novel begins to flag; 
she shuts the book and stifles a yawn. Surely it is 
time she is sent for to bestow her blessing graciously 
on the happy pair. She sees Viva’s future roll out be- 
fore her. Of course everything will not be exactly 
couleur de rose to Richard Baxter’s wife, but then she 
will be a power in the land. Now if Viva were a dif- 
ferent style, that dictatorial, watchfully jealous dispo- 
sition of his would be unsafe, but there is no danger of 
Viva making a fool of herself. And out of sheer 
vanity, he will see that she makes a nice appearance 


40 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

before the world, no matter what economies go on be^ 
hind the scenes; and with one’s bills paid, an elegant 
home, handsome horses and carriages, to say nothing 
of being the best dressed woman in the surrounding 
country, why, one can afford to laugh at the ravings of 
a jealous husband. Yes, it is all settled, and Miss 
Carrol rejoices, for Viva is her niece, and, after all, a 
Carrol. Yes, thank heaven, it is comfortably settled. 

She rises, goes to the window and looks out. The 
lawn is deserted. What can it mean ? Where are 
they? She rings the bell sharply. 

“ Aunt Pinky,” to the old negro who answers, “ where 
is Miss Viva?” 

“ I seed her go to her room a right smart while 
back.” 

“ Tell her I want her at once.” 

Miss Carrol can hardly contain herself. Can that 
girl have refused Richard Baxter ? If so. Miss Carrol 
washes her hands of her entirely. 

“Ah, my dear, I sent for you,” as Viva enters. 
“ Have I the pleasure of speaking to Mrs. Baxter that 
is to be ?” 

“I don’t understand you, auntie.” 

Heaven give her patience. Miss Carrol is sorely 
tried. 

“ Come, Viva, what did Mr. Baxter say to you on 
the tennis court ?” she asks with pardonable sharpness. 

At the mention of the tennis court a dark flush 
mounts to Viva’s brow. 

“I have not seen Mr. Baxter.” Hesitatingly she 
adds, “Captain Parker and Mr. Winston were here.” 
Slowly at first, then hurriedly, as though to get through 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 41 

with it before her courage fails, she says: “Mr. Win- 
ston had been drinking. Captain Parker met him at 
the gate, as I understand it, and tried to prevent him 
from coming in, but could not. Finally, as Mr. Winston 
reached me, Captain Parker caught up with him, and 
at last succeeded in taking him off.” Then Viva turns 
away and arranges a flower-pot in the window. 

“Preposterous,” gasps Miss Carrol, as she shrewdly 
guesses Viva has put it as lightly as possible. She gets 
up from her chair, and paces up and down the room in 
indignation. “ One can be on one’s guard against ma- 
liciousness or against anything in the world except a 
fool,” she continues with growing wrath. “Who 
would have thought that young idiot would have re- 
turned at such a moment? I saw Mr. Baxter come up 
the river path, and not knowing we were being treated 
to a scene worthy of a third-rate play, did not inter- 
fere. Of course there is but one conclusion at which 
to arrive: he saw the whole thing, and left in one of 
his fits of temper. The question is, how to bring him 
back. Of course, there is an end of Parker. It was a 
death-blow to romance, and his sense of refinement is 
hurt; besides he would never stand the ‘running, ’ as 
they call it, from his brother officers. Such stories are 
bound to get out. And nowhere do they wear a joke 
to such a ragged edge as in the army. It would be 
told to him after he became a general. It would be said 
he dragged the intoxicated lover of his wife from his 
knees at her feet, and carrying him off by his back hair, 
left him in a drunken stupor in his quarters, then re- 
turned and took a mean advantage of his disabled rival 
and proposed himself. So, as I say, there is an end of 


42 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


him,” with a curious glance at the silent figure at the 
window. 

“ Why doesn’t she speak >” thinks Miss Carrol, fret- 
fully. “ One is never sure what she is thinking of ; she 
listens impassively and somehow gives one the impres- 
sion she is laughing in her sleeve, and cleverly conceal- 
ing it.” 

She waits for an answer, but none comes. 

“I think I’ll write to him. Yes,” brightening and 
going to her desk, and with her gold pen held between 
her lips, as she arranges her paper, “ that is the only 
way out of it.” 

After a few moments’ silence, broken only by the 
scratch of the pen as it flies over the paper, she reads: 

“Dear Mr. Baxter: — I had hoped to see you to- 
day, to ask a favor of you. I want you to see my 
niece. Miss Van Velssler, off this afternoon. I find that 
I am too fatigued after last evening to take so long a 
drive. There is a nuisance of some kind about a ticket 
to be signed, et ccetei'a^ for which I fear she will need 
the assistance of some one more accustomed to travel- 
ling than herself. 

“ Hoping that you will not mind very much taking a 
three-mile drive with a boarding-school miss, and 
thanking you for the cuttings of the Japanese chrysan- 
themums, I am, with best wishes. Yours, 

“Eveline Carrol.” 

“There' I fancy that will have the desired effect. 
Aunt Pinky,” she says to her maid, who has answered 
the bell, “tell James to ride over to Mr. Baxter’s place 
with this note and wait for an answer. Tell him to 
hurry about it, too. And send Josh to me.” 

As the door closes behind the old servant Miss Car- 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 43 

rol sagely adds: “Now, he will come an hour before 
train time, and you will please keep your room till you 
are sent for. It would not do to have another contre- 
tefnps. Yes, Josh, I sent for you,” as that worthy 
bows in the doorway. “ Do you know Lieutenant Win- 
ston, who called here a few days ago, and who was 
here last evening?” 

“ Yessum. Tall gemman wid light har.” 

“ Exactly. Well, he will probably call this after- 
noon. Now remember, you are to say Miss Carrol is 
out, and Miss Viva has a headache and is not receiv- 
ing. Do you understand >” 

“Yessum,” retiring with a bow worthy of Chester- 
field. 

“There, that is settled,” says Miss Carrol com- 
placently. 

“If you are through with me now, auntie. I’ll finish 
my packing,” says Viva, dropping her hands heavily 
against her sides and going toward the door. 

“Yes, certainly, my dear. I wonder what is the 
matter now ?” she thinks as she gazes after the retreat- 
ing form of her niece. “ Could she have fancied that 
young idiot, Freddy? No, surely not. No woman 
would look at him twice with Clyde Parker present. 
If it is anybody, it must be that fascinating reprobate 
of a captain. Still, that being true, why on earth 
didn’t she secure him when she had him? Certainly 
girls are a hard lot to manage; thank heaven, she will 
be out of my hands soon. Perhaps she is only sulky 
at the idea of marrying Richard Baxter — girls are 
such romantic fools, they prefer a man who sits and 
spoons in the moonlight and talks a lot of rot about 


44 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


‘love forever.’” Still, at the thought of marrying 
Richard Baxter, Miss Carrol shivers, and, drawing her 
chair up close to the fire, opens her book and soon 
loses her own woes in those of the poor much-put- 
upon heroine. 

Shortly after luncheon James returns Miss Carrol her 
note, saying Mr. Baxter left on the noon train for 
Charleston. 

“Well, she is certainly at the end of her line now,” 
that lady remarks, tossing the note in the fire. She rises 
and goes up to her niece’s room. “I have come to tell 
you. Viva, that Richard Baxter left for Charleston this 
morning; it is absurd, like a school-boy, to run away 
in a temper!” But be as indignant as she may, it will 
not bring him back, as she very wisely concludes 
after a few moments. 

“ Now, the only thing for you to do is to secure your 
diploma. Don’t let that slip through your fingers, as 
you have everything else; and then, like people who 
are too stupid or too indolent to take advantage of the 
opportunities which present themselves, lay the blame 
on Fate. If there is any one on earth I despise it is a 
person who is continually apologizing for his mistakes 
in life by prating of Destiny. I have brought you 
these jewels; they were your mother’s and are your 
due.” [Oh, the Carrols are just, certainly, and if they 
demand their pound of flesh, they are careful to see 
that everyone else gets his.] “You will, of course, 
not dispose of them, except as a last extremity. I 
would advise you to carry them in that little bag sus- 
pended from your belt, and upon arriving in Richmond 
to place them in the bank upon which I make your 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 45 

draft. I have nothing to suggest, unless it is that you 
write to your aunt, Mrs. Livingston, though she has 
cut all her family dead for years. You will have to 
leave soon, so I will bid you good-by now, as I am very 
fatigued after all this excitement, and am going to 
rest.” 

“ Oh, auntie, I am so sorry to leave you, and if I 
have been a nuisance, a worry, and a fearful expense to 
you, I am indeed grateful,” throwing her arms around 
the grim old lady, her fresh young voice breaking with 
sobs. 

“There, child, don’t make a scene. I am too un- 
strung to bear it. I am sorry I cannot do more for 
you, but I have at least done my duty, no one can 
deny that,” kissing her brow, and' unclasping the soft, 
clinging arms. 

Viva let her arms fall. She forgot that feeling is 
plebeian, though she has been told often enough to 
remember it. Well, after a while, when youth is gone, 
she will cease to feel, but while her young blood leaps 
like fire through her veins, before the keen-edged sword 
of experience cuts into her heart, she must be plebeian. 
She throws herself on the bed, after Miss Carrol de- 
parts, and presses her hands tightly over her eyes. 

Josh knocks at her door and presents her with a 
card. 

“Captain Arthur Clyde Parker, — th Cavalry,” she 
reads, and under the name is written: “Sorry not to 
have had the pleasure. A pleasant trip.” 

“ Where is the gentleman ?” she asks. 

“I done tole him what ole Miss sayed — she ware 
gone out, and dat yer ware sick.” 


46 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

She rushes to the window. Captain Parker is at the 
far end of the carriage-drive. While she looks, he 
vaults lightly into his saddle and rides rapidly down 
the road. 

“ That is all,” she says to Josh, who is uncomfortably 
aware that something is wrong. 

“ Ole Miss tole me ter tell de tall gemman wid light 
har— ” 

“Yes, yes, it is all right. Uncle Josh. Don’t forget 
to carry down my trunk,” she added, falling back upon 
the bed, where she remains motionless until Aunt Pinky 
comes to rouse her to take the train. 

“ It’s time fur yer ter be gittin’ ready, honey,” she says 
as she bends over Viva, who springs to her feet and, 
going to the glass, brushes out her tumbled hair. 

Aunt Pinky lovingly follows her about the room with 
her open satchel, putting in the brushes and things as 
she uses them. Viva puts on her hat, and stands 
holding her gloves in her hand. Aunt Pinky, with 
tears in her honest old eyes, watches her silently as 
she glances about the pretty, girlish apartment, with its 
drawn linen work curtains, looped back with ribbons; 
its little sketches, the work of her own brush, of different 
parts of the grounds. There is such a sadness and 
something so appealing in the last look one casts about 
the rooms in which one has lived for a long time, as 
one gathers up one’s possessions. True, one is leav- 
ing, saying good-by forever, but it would be decidedly 
uncomfortable to be on the sleeper without one’s 
combs and brushes. There is no time now for senti- 
ment. The train will not wait. There is all the after- 
ward in which to shed tears. 


NAVAL CADET GAEL VLB'S GLOVE. 


47 


“I believe I have everything,” she says as she leaves 
the room, and steps noiselessly by Miss Carrol’s door 
to keep from waking her. Once she pauses, as though 
she would go in, then presses her hands over her eyes, 
and with a laugh that is more than half a sob says, 
“ ‘So plebeian’ of me,” and passes out of the front door. 

Josh is waiting with the carriage. She stops to take 
one last look before she goes. The old place is al- 
most in shadow, as the short winter evening is drawing 
to a close. The blue smoke that curls from the chim- 
neys looks like little wreaths of violets against the sun- 
set sky. There is a crisp breeze that blows across the 
well-kept lawn, bringing with it the scent of the sweet 
Southern flowers. The last rays of the sun fall on *the 
shell carriage-drive, shaded by massive oaks. ’Way off, 
in front of the servants’ quarters, she can see the little 
darkeys at play. From the kennels comes the plaintive 
bay of the hounds. Beside her stands her pet dog, 
Bayard. He was her grandfather’s favorite hound, but 
two years ago he had his foot hurt while out hunting, 
and it had to be amputated. Viva tended him day and 
night, and now he manages to walk very well on three 
feet. They have allowed him to stay about the house, 
since, as Judge Vane says, he is on the pension list. 
It is very pitiful to see him when he hears the hunter’s 
horn. He accompanies the pack to the gate, then 
slowly and sorrowfully limps to the house and lays him 
down by the fire. He stands looking up at Viva in- 
quiringly. 

“ Dear old Bayard, did you come to bid me good-by ? 
You knew I was going away, you darling,” kneeling 
down and putting her arms about him. 


48 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


He has been taught to shake hands, and as she says 
good-by, he offers her his right paw, the maimed one. 

“You old beauty,” she murmurs, holding him to her. 
“Aunt Pinky, you’ll take him yourself to Judge Vane. 
He promised to take care of him. The new people 
won’t want a crippled hound. You’ll do it. Aunt 
Pinky?” 

“I’ll tote him mysef, sho, honey,” chokingly. 

“Good-by, Aunt Pinky, you won’t forget me, quite V' 
throwing her arms about the faithful old woman. 

“ ’Deed I won’t, chile. An’ yer’ll come back some 
day. Miss Viva, an’ fetch Pinky ter lib wid yer, won’t 
yer ?” 

“You may be sure I will, if I can. Good-by. 

“ God bless yer, honey,” she falters, as she strains her 
to her bosom. 

Viva gets into the tumble-down old carriage; Josh 
shuts the door with a bang; Aunt Pinky throws her 
apron over her head and sinks sobbing on the steps. 
Bayard gazes after the carriage with his big moist 
eyes, hobbles after it to the gate, and as it is closed by 
Josh, he gives a mournful howl, then comes back and 
lies down at Aunt Pinky’s feet. 

There is only Uncle Josh to say good-by to now. 
Judge Vane wrote to her after luncheon that a sudden 
attack of rheumatism would prevent him accompanying 
her to the train. They go rapidly down the road, and 
through the dilapidated little village. Uncle Josh 
carries her satchel into the sleeper. There is no one 
in the car, except an old woman at the opposite end. 
The bell gives a warning ring. She grasps Uncle 
Josh’3 hand, the old fellow takes hers tenderly between 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


49 


his sable, hardened palms, and then, with slow step and 
bowed head, leaves the car, for once forgetting his po- 
lite bow. He brushes away a tear as he climbs up to 
his box, and whistles to keep back the sobs. Uncon- 
sciously he has selected “ Good-by to My Dear Old 
Southern Home.” 

Viva gazes out of the window as they pull out of the 
little station, and struggles to lift the sash, to call out 
a last good-by, but it refuses to rise. She sits motion- 
less for a moment, the full red lips quiver, then with a 
passionate gesture she tosses off her hat, and throwing 
herself upon the opposite seat bursts into a storm of 
tears. 


4 


CHAPTER VI. 


“Saved, by Jove, for the second time to-day,” mur- 
murs Captain Parker, as he tightens the reins over the 
arched neck of his thoroughbred. “ How the fellows 
would stare if they knew how determined I was to run 
my neck into the noose ! Well, it is just as well to have 
it over and done with, like the measles, et ccetera^ I sup- 
pose. I’ll have to read the young ones a terrible lec- 
ture about the absurdity of an army man marrying, and 
the burdensomeness of marriage in general to sober up. 
It was the old girl’s doing, I suppose; though, by Jove, 
I ought to be obliged to her for favoring me with a new 
sensation in this fin de siecle^ for I generally have to 
take care they don’t hook me unawares. Got a title in 
view for the little one, I suppose. I wonder — bah, 
what the mischief is the use of wondering about it, — she 
simply took a very school-girl way of answering me. 
Headache, indeed, with her color and vivacity!” He 
gives his horse a cut with the whip. The animal trem- 
bles with surprise, then bounds forward, and requires 
the undivided attention of his rider the rest of the way. 

Captain Parker flings the reins to a trooper and dis- 
mounts at his quarters as the bugle sounds for dress 
parade. He stands for a moment, tugging at his 
golden mustache, and idly flicks a speck of dust off his 
riding-boot, with his whip. Then mutters through his 
white teeth, “Oh, confound it,” and hurries into his 
full dress. 


50 


CHAPTER VII. 


It is recreation hour at Hammer College, a school 
for young ladies, at Richmond. The college itself is a 
gloomy, dingy, depressing old building, surrounded by 
a high brick wall. Its crowded gables and shaded por- 
ticos seem to be continually frowning. Even the 
bright afternoon sunshine fails to lighten its gloom. 
The walls have a ghostly look; the corridors echo 
weirdly. It is recreation hour. Several of the gradu- 
ates are assembled in a room at the eastern end of the 
upper corridor. 

The room is furnished with a narrow little bed; a 
table piled high with dictionaries, reference books, 
senior studies, music and exercises — all, for a wonder, 
neatly arranged; a toilet-stand, over which hangs a 
mirror whose reflections remind one of “ the crooked 
little man who lived in a crooked little house”; a few 
chairs, though to be sure the mantel, with the trunk 
under it for a footstool, makes a seat always in de- 
mand. There is a bunch of roses in a cracked old vase. 
A sort of gala air prevails in the apartment; an un- 
usual neatness surrounds the whole. 

“How nice everything looks,” exclaims a voice and 
a head of brown curls is thrust in the door, followed, 
after a moment’s survey of the room, by an infinitesimal 
figure. “I say, girls, do you think she is coming?” 
asks Miss Gaybraith. 

“Come in, Gay, and shut the door, if you don’t 
51 


52 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

want every member of the faculty down on us,” says 
Fannie Bomar. 

“Who on earth discovered that wonderful find?” 
says Miss Gaybraith, looking at the blazing grate. 

“ Made a raid on the coal bin,” says Puss proudly. 
“ I thought it a shame for her to come and find only 
our measly little allowance of coal. Nothing is more 
doleful than to come into a cold room after a long 
railway journey,” kneeling in front of the open fire- 
place with a corn-popper in her hand and dexterously 
shielding her face from the heat with a copy of 
“ Trench on Words.” 

“I met the old cat as I was going downstairs,” 
continues Miss Griswold, “ and told her I was on my 
way to the study-hall, fired with the laudable ambition 
of cleaning out my desk, and received her motherly en- 
couragement in the herculean task, so when I met her 
coming back, she thought my apron was full of trash.” 

“You’ll go to Congress yet,” says Dot Gaybraith, ad- 
miringly. 

“ I tell you one thing, my loved ones, if she is not 
here for the English exam, to-morrow, she might just 
as well stay away, for old Hammer wouldn’t give her 
an especial exam, to save her life. Whew, how the 
old girl does hate her!” says a young woman at the 
window. 

“You can depend on Van’s being here, however,” 
says Miss Gaybraith, undisturbedly. “She always 
comes in on the home-stretch, after scaring us half out 
of our senses.” 

“The train must be late,” says the girl at the win- 
dow, peering anxiously down the street. “ I wonder if 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 53 

old Hammer could have ordered her sent to the den on 
her arrival ?” 

“Not she,” answers Fannie. “I can see Viva draw 
herself up and say, ‘Tell Miss Hammer that I am tired 
now, and will go to my room first, if she doesn’t 
mind. ’ That is why Miss Hammer hates her so. She 
can do nothing but send her to bed without her supper, 
or make her write yards of French exercises, and Viva 
receives her punishment as though a favor had been 
conferred. I believe the old girl would delight in strik- 
ing her sometimes. And if the poor old thing is un- 
wise enough to cross swords in a war of words, she is 
always beaten. Viva, with that keen, sarcastic wit of 
hers, crushes the enemy utterly — though it is not so 
much what she says, but what she somehow silently 
and wondrously conveys. She cannot be punished for 
holding her head high, a haughty bearing, or for look- 
ing straight through one at the horizon.” 

'' Cest vrai^ my sapient Fan,” says Puss, carefully 
pouring her corn on a newspaper and refilling the pop- 
per. “ I sometimes wonder if that cold, on-the-defen- 
sive young woman we see in the schoolroom is our 
bright, fun-loving Van.” 

“Won’t our fair underteacher rejoice if she should 
fail to come?” says one of them. 

“Oh, Miss Cockerill is furiously jealous of her,” 
laughs Gay. “Well, the poor thing is so fearfully in 
love with Professor De Solla, and he, dear fellow, is 
equally in love with Viva. Now, we all know that 
Miss Cockerill can no more afford to take elocution 
lessons than I can afford to buy the throne of England, 
and it takes nearly all he^r salary to pay for them, but 


54 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

she simply takes them so that she can see him. To-day, 
in class, Jen Miller asked me if Van would come to-night 
— he is too shy to correct us for talking, hence his 
class-room is not noted for its order. I said yes, she 
had written so. He turned around so suddenly that 
he dropped my paper on ‘Richard Grant White’s Criti- 
cism of Lady Macbeth,’ which he was correcting, and 
when I smiled significantly at Jen, he saw me and his 
face became the color of my new red Oxford ties.” 

“I would like to have seen Miss Cockerill’s face,” 
says Puss. “I think I’ll develop a sudden talent for 
histrionic art, and take elocution for the pleasure of 
seeing the meeting and the effect it has on the Cock- 
erill.” 

“ I have a letter for her,” says Dot. “ I was nearly 
caught at it too^ — it seems to me my hand is getting 
larger. I cannot get it in the letter-box half so well as 
I used. I heard some one coming and jerked my 
hand out with great difficulty, and the old tin box rat- 
tled so that I thought I was done for.” 

“ For heaven’s sake, little Gaybraith, don’t grow any 
more,” says Puss as she poises the popper and scorches 
the corn in her horror. “ What will we do for mail if the 
smallest girl in school dares do such a mean trick as to 
wear a size larger glove than five and a fourth ?” 

“It is from Cadet Carlyle,” continues Dot. “I’d 
know his writing anywhere. He was awful spoony on 
her when he visited us last fall. Cousin Will Harris, 
who spends all of his holidays with us, since papa be- 
came his guardian, is his roommate. Will wrote to me 
asking if he could bring his friend with him; I an- 
swered, of course. I’d be delighted, never dreaming 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


55 


but that he would fall a victim to my manifold 
charms; but no, indeed, he never looked at me, except 
when duty to his hostess compelled, and went down 
before Van, as Will said, ‘with the first dash out of the 
box.’ Not that I blamed him, she is such a darling, 
but I was half inclined to envy her; he is just lovely, so 
bright — he is quite the life of the class. He will be 
graduated in June. Oh, girls, you just ought to see 
him — he is so gay and popular, the fellows call him 
Prince Charlie. His name is Charles, you know.” 

“It is warranted never to run down,” says Fannie 
Bomar, looking at her in mock wonder, “ Will some 
one stop it while I inquire the time?” 

“What news, sister Anne?” asks Puss of the girl at 
the window. 

Gladys Wilmer, a pretty little creature with big, 
pleading eyes, soft fair hair and a rosebud mouth, turns 
around, with a sigh : 

“ None. I don’t believe she is coming at all.” 

“False prophetess! Behold your most faithful re- 
turned to the fold,” says a voice, as the door is thrown 
open and Miss Van Velssler stands revealed to their 
delighted gaze. 

There is a rush made for her that would do credit to 
any college eleven. One takes off her hat; another 
secures her coat ; they ply her with questions galore, 
none of which she is able to answer for the clatter they 
keep up. She draws a chair up to the fire, and rests 
one little boot on the fender, while she takes the shell 
pins out of her loosely twisted hair, and attempts to 
throw them on the table, but they land in all directions 
over the floor. 


56 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


“What news at this end of the line, my fair ones?" 
she inquires, as she helps herself generously to popcorn. 

“ What could happen ?" asks Miss Bomar reproach- 
fully. 

“ Only Susan Anne, our lady principal, has been a 
degree worse than ever since you left.” 

“Yes,” says Viva, as she throws back her head and 
drops an extra large grain of corn between her red 
lips, “ it puts her out if I am not here for her to empty 
the vials of her wrath on my devoted head. She is al- 
ways more approachable after we have had an unusual 
fight — like opening the valve of an engine and letting 
off steam. Anything else ?” 

“Nothing, I believe,” says Miss Gaybraith, vainly 
searching her brain for a piece of news. “ Only that 
Professor De Solla is as desperately in love with you as 
ever, and the Cockerill is as jealous as — ” 

“ Young ladies!” says a voice at the door, and Miss 
Lucy Cockerill is facing them with flashing eyes. She 
is slightly under medium height, and of stout propor- 
tion ; neutral tinted hair, politely termed light brown ; 
eyes of light blue, and her cheeks are startling red for 
the other coloring. In fact, as Dot once said, “ She 
looks as if she had been suffering with toothache in 
either side of her face and had applied a blistering 
mustard plaster to each cheek.” 

She stands in the doorway and looks at them ; the 
rage on her face is dreadful to see; as her gaze falls 
upon Viva her small eyes kindle and blaze with a 
deadly hatred; if looks could kill. Viva would die in 
torture before them, and, as the novel writers say, “ This 
story need not have been written.” Miss Cockerill re- 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


57 


covers herself so quickly that one can almost believe 
that one’s eyesight had been at fault. The almost 
Dutch countenance, the hard metallic voice betray no 
emotion as she says: 

“ Miss Hammer’s compliments to the young ladies, 
and by the sudden uproar and noise she is aware that 
Miss Van Velssler has returned. She will please come 
to the study at once.” 

“You will please say to Miss Hammer that I would 
have gone to her on my arrival, but it was impossible 
until I had removed some of the dust of travel, and 
that I will do myself the pleasure of seeing her before 
supper,” says Viva, not appearing to notice that Miss 
Cockerill has spoken no word of greeting, and with a 
glance that plainly indicates that the interview is 
ended. 

Miss Cockerill stands for a moment, fairly consumed 
with rage, but cannot think of anything to retort, so 
departs. 

“The old sneak!” says Fannie Bomar, as soon as 
the door doses. “The idea of her creeping up and 
opening the door before we heard a sound. Well, I 
hope she feels a living illustration of the time-honored 
expression, ‘Eavesdroppers hear no good of them- 
selves. ’ ” 

“ You have only added another grudge to the already 
long list she owes me. Gay,” says Viva wearily. “ Now 
clear out, every last one of you; I am worn out. Be 
gone!” with a gesture in imitation of Miss Cockerill’s 
attempts at tragic posing that brings down the house, 
and the old halls echo with their girlish laughter as 
they troop out. 


$8 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

“ They are all very faithfully fond of me now, and 
there is not one among them who would not gladly 
take upon herself some of the punishments heaped 
upon me,” says Viva, as she glances about the room 
they have taken such pains to arrange for her coming. 
The coal Puss has schemed to get; the letter little Dot 
has run such risks to secure; the flowers Gladys has 
spent the last cent of her allowance for, — she does not 
undervalue one favor, but she sighs as she unfastens 
the tight travelling gown and puts on the pink dress- 
ing sacque Fannie Bomar has placed for her, in case 
her trunk did not come. 

“Bah! they like me now because I am one of them, 
fight their battles, help them with their lessons, and am 
a fine confidante. How will it be after we have left 
school a few years ? Here we are on a level footing, and 
neither money nor position is a feather’s weight. A 
girl’s position at boarding-school is won by herself, on 
her wit, gayety, or powers of magnetism. But mammas 
and chaperons, when they find I am no longer the niece 
and protegee of Miss Carrol of Glenwood, will frown 
down the intimacy; will show them the uselessness of 
showering favors and invitations upon one who cannot 
return them. These same entertaining powers being a 
trump card against me — who cares for a dangerous 
rival ? And they — well, they, poor little things, at first 
they will feel sorry and hurt, will rebel and vow they 
will be true, will remember lovingly the old days of 
honest companionship; but constant dropping wears a 
stone, and they will finally agree, with wise mamma, 
that it is best to introduce to the world as one’s 
friend a girl who can be of some social advantage, and 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


59 


one who could come to the assistance of the family in 
a pecuniary way should brother fancy her. Yes, in 
the end they will fall in with the maternal ideas and 
give me the cut direct. However, it is pleasant while 
it lasts,” and getting up and standing in front of the 
blazing fire, for a moment, she throws her beautiful arms 
over her head and paces up and down the little room. 
Finally she stops in front of the table and picks up the 
letter, and going to the window reads it by the 
fast-fading light. 

She reads page after page, written in a boyish scrawl ; 
it is an amusing jumble of barracks gossip, news, wit, 
and passionate adoration of herself. She has to strain 
her eyes to read the last lines; then she folds it up, and 
with a smile and a lightly whispered, “ Dear old Prince 
Charlie,” tucks it in her belt, and, twisting up her 
wealth of hair, arranges her toilet and descends to 
“the den.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


It is Easter holidays at Hammer College. The last 
lessons were said yesterday morning, and at noon most 
of the girls left for their homes, only a few remaining 
at the college. Trunks were hurriedly and noisily 
packed; lessons and discipline were forgotten for a 
space, and good-byes were merrily said, while pretty 
eyes looked forward to a week of bliss — seven whole 
days free from bondage. Of course, this earth is a 
jolly old world and full of fun and pleasure. Every- 
thing is couleur de rose. This was yesterday, and now 
two of them have reached their destination. 

“I wonder who will meet us?” says Gay, putting her 
head out of the window. “ I hope Dev has managed 
to get off. I want you to meet that handsome scamp 
of a brother of mine. Van, for I know you will like 
him. As old Miss Hanks says, ‘though I say it who 
shouldn’t,’ he is the only man I know who is worthy of 
you.” 

“ Considering the limited number of your acquaint- 
ances, I ought to feel insulted, but will take it in a 
kindlier light,” says Van, as she leans forward and gives 
her hat a coquettish little tilt before the mirror be- 
tween the windows of the car. 

“ Here we are. Get the satchel ! You would enslave 
Dev for life if he saw you get out of the car with only 
that small bag. He says he would get a divorce from 

6o 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 6i 

a woman who travelled with as much hand baggage 
as I do.” 

The train pulls up with a shriek, and they are on the 
platform in a moment more. 

“How do you, Hopkins?” says Gay. “Take Miss 
Van Velssler’s bag, and here are our trunk checks. 
What have you brought for us — the road-cart ? That 
is nice. I thought Mr. Harris would meet us,” look- 
ing disappointedly about, 

“ The young gentlemen wired they was held over by 
a wreck ahead, beggin’ yer pardons,” says Hopkins, as 
he takes the bags, “and that they’d be in on the 
midnight express from Hartford.” 

'^YoMx\g gentlemen?'* says Miss Gaybraith, as they are 
whirled over the perfect turnpike. “ Then my gallant 
cousin has, as his guest, his roommate. Naval Cadet 
Carlyle. Oh, Van, Van, you have much to answer 
for!” 

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she answers, with a 
laugh. “ I have not heard for some time. I suppose 
his letters are reposing in Susan Anne’s desk. Little 
Dot, you are not half doing your chores. You must 
attend to the mail better. We cannot afford to support 
you in idleness.” 

“Well, he’ll have to put off the pleasure of behold- 
ing your Hellenic countenance till to-morrow at break- 
fast. No doubt he will have poor Will up at the crack 
of day in hope of seeing you, which shows how little 
he knows you, expecting you to be up at such a time.” 

Their gay laughter rings out across the meadows. 
Youth laughs easily, but it feels sorrow more keenly 
than age — ^yet who would not be willing to suffer 


62 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

doubly for the pleasure of enjoying? That is what we 
envy in youth, the power to feel. What matter if it be 
anger, hate, joy or love, so our blood runs riot once 
more, so our pulses quicken again, so this terrible bur- 
den of insufferable ennm leaves us, so this leaden heart 
beats again, and we are conscious of emotion ? 

“ Is there any land so beautiful as this fair Kentucky 
of ours?” says Dot, as she gazes fondly at the stretch of 
magnificent country. “ Do you ever see such sunsets as 
we have here ? Look at that view over there, at those 
great purple hills, — the mist which surrounds them 
looks like a delicate bridal veil of priceless lace. The 
sun sinks beneath the horizon lingeringly, as though 
he would fain look longer on so fair a sight. Oh, my 
Kentucky, land of beauty, fine horses and — ” 

“Ahem! Leave out the rest,” from her companion. 

They are entering the gate. Their laughter reaches 
the people on the veranda. The cart stops in front of 
the high steps. Gay springs out, and, going up the 
steps with a rush, is clasped in her mother’s arms. 

“ Welcome to the old Kentucky shore once more, my 
dear,” says Mrs. Gaybraith, as soon as she is freed 
from her daughter’s arms, which have worked sad 
havoc with her carefully arranged laces. 

Meanwhile Dot is gathering up her numerous satch- 
els and lamenting the loss of one, which turns up se- 
renely after a moment’s search. 

“ Has Dev come, mother mine?” she inquires, as they 
go into the house. 

“ I suppose not, else he would have condescended to 
welcome us, even if it is beneath his dignity to meet at 
the station ‘a bread-and-butter schoolgirl.’ ” 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 63 

It is a family joke, Dev’s mad passion for older wo- 
men, he, himself, being a Harvard undergrad. When 
chaffed about his specimens of the prehistoric age by 
his sister, he says he prefers to talk to women with 
gray hair, and he only draws the line when they get so 
old that they have to be wheeled about. 

“ Well, I suppose he’ll blow in some time. En mhne 
temps, we are starving,” adds Gay, leading the way to 
the dining-room. 

“The chronic condition of schoolgirls,” laughs Mrs. 
Gaybraith. “You would be a contradiction of nature 
if you ever had enough to eat.” 

“Well, to give his Satanic Majesty his due, Susan 
Anne does have a splendid corps of cooks. 

“ My dear, you are speaking of Miss Hammer, the 
principal,” says her mother, shocked. 

“That was ‘drawing it mild,’ as Dev says,” continues 
Miss Gaybraith, doing justice to a plate of cakes. 

After supper they go to the back drawing-room, and 
Viva seats herself at the piano, while mother and 
daughter sit by the fire and plan little informal gayeties 
for the coming week. 

“ Ah, my dear fellow, you seem to be monarch of all 
you survey,” says Mr. Carlyle, the next morning, enter- 
ing the breakfast room at Riverside. 

“Yes, we are a lazy household,” says his companion, 
turning away from the window. “ The bell rang some 
time ago, but they are all late, as usual.” 

“Shall I serve breakfast, sir?” says a servant, enter- 
ing. 

“Oh, no, we will wait for the ladies, John,” an- 
swers Mr. Harris. “Aunt Marion believes in her 


64 


NAVAL CADET CALL VLB'S GLOVE. 


guests doing as they please in these things, and will 
probably lecture us roundly for waiting for her, think- 
ing we would have preferred our breakfast when we 
first came down.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t. I prefer my coffee to be poured 
out by a pretty woman,” says Prince Charlie, sinking 
down in a big chair, and picking up the morning paper. 

There is such a difference between the two. Charlie 
Carlyle is pronounced by the fair ones who visit Annap- 
olis to be “ decidedly the handsomest man in the corps.” 
He makes a goodly picture to look upon, certainly, 
with his fine height; his well made limbs, their every 
muscle brought into full play by a course of scientific 
training in the “ gym” ; his perfect head, covered with 
rippling golden curls, cropped ruthlessly short in the 
“regulation cut”; eyes “like violets dipped in dew,” 
as one sentimental young woman said of him ; his w'ell- 
shaped mouth, always ready for laughter, and showing 
between the lips strong, white teeth. He looks like a 
young Apollo, the perfect idealization of boyish beauty 
and strength. His dearest friend is not handsome. 
No girl has ever exclaimed over his beauty on the pa- 
rade grounds. He is scarcely medium height; is rather 
slender; dark gray eyes, surrounded by shadowy cir- 
cles — eyes which look bravely and squarely into one’s 
own — who can discern the depth, the purity of soul 
that lies in them ? There is a quietness, a precision, 
about his movements that shows a lack of nervou^ess. 
He is a man whom children have a natural fondness for, 
whom women call upon freely when in trouble and 
trust instinctively, and who is immensely popular with 
and looked up to by his own sex, by whom hq is voted 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 65 

“an all-round good sort and the genuine stuff, you 
k,now. ” He will always be guided by reason, the phil- 
osophical eyes say. The tanned hand tells his charac- 
ter again ; the length of palm shows a love of detail, a 
desire to investigate calmly and thoroughly before ar- 
riving at a conclusion ; the second joint of the fingers, 
precision, carefulness; the large, well-developed thumb, 
logic and reason, balanced by an equal amount of will- 
power and determination. No, Will Harris certainly 
does not suffer when compared to his friend. Not 
handsome ? Well, how do women reckon beauty ? 

“ Have I kept every one waiting ?” says Mrs. Gay- 
braith, coming in hurriedly. “ How do you do. Will, 
my dear?” as she is folded in the arms of her nephew. 
“I am delighted to have you with us again, Mr. Car- 
lyle,” she continues, going up to him and giving him 
her hand. 

“ And I am delighted to be here again, I assure you,” 
he answers with his bonny smile. 

“Those girls not down yet? Well, if two charming 
cadets are not sufficient attraction, nothing will reform 
them,” she says, laughing as she takes her seat. 

Mr. Harris eats his breakfast in silence, and heartily 
enjoys the anxious look Prince Charlie casts at the 
door, while he keeps up a running fire of questions about 
the neighbors to his hostess. Finally he is rewarded. 
Viva enters, gowned in a blazer suit of blue tweed, the 
coat opening over a vest of white duck, and fastened 
across the chest by two large brass buttons. 

“ How do you do? We were sorry not to have had 
the pleasure of driving out with you last evening,” she 
says brightly to Mr. Harris. “Good morning, Mrs. 

5 


66 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


Gaybraith. I think I’ll sit by this individual ; beseems 
to have managed to get every dish around his plate. 
It is purely selfish,” she adds, sotfo voce., as she seats 
herself beside Mr. Carlyle. 

“ I would be glad to have you even on those terms,” 
he says devouring her with his eyes. 

Gay, who has just entered, is keeping up such a clat- 
ter at the other end of the table with her favorite cousin 
that what they say is drowned. 

“ Do you know I have come nearly across three 
States for the pleasure of spending a few hours in your 
society?” he says after a time. “Our leave is so dis- 
gustingly short, it is almost worse than none.” 

“ What is it that dissatisfied young beggar is saying 
about a short leave. Miss Van Velssler? Why, five 
days at Easter is an unheard-of long leave. The fel- 
lows are just swearing by the new Supt. on account 
of it,” says Mr. Harris breaking in on the tete-a-tete. 

“Eh? Soup?” says Viva, looking puzzled. “Oh, 
you mean superintendent,” with a laugh. “While you 
are in cit’s clothes you will please speak the language 
of the United States.” 

They leave the dining-room and pass through the 
hall to the balcony. The day is clear and sunshiny. 
The lawn slopes down to the river, glittering and writh- 
ing in the sunlight like a huge silver serpent. They 
stroll out into the grounds and seat fhemselyes in a 
spot delightfully shielded from the wind by the conser- 
vatory. 

“ What shall we do ?” says Dot. 

“Nothing,” says Prince Charlie, stretching himself 
in a garden chair and luxuriating in the warmth. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 67 

“ Little one, run up to the house and forage around 
and find some banjos; we might have some music later. 
The Prince and Miss Van Velssler sing divinely to- 
gether,” says Will to Dot. 

“I like that! Run, indeed!” indignantly. “That 
is one nuisance of being small, one is always called 
upon to wait upon every one else. Now no one would 
dream of saying rmi and do so and so to Van; if she is 
called upon at all, she is requested to do me the favor, 
et c cetera.'" 

“Well, big lady, will your extreme rotundity conde- 
scend to meander houseward slowly, with your stately 
gait, and bring the banjos?” 

They all laugh, but Dot is not to be appeased by his 
tardy politeness, and refuses to move. 

“I say, 7?ion prince.," says Will, “Aunt Marion has 
just received some very fine specimens in the way of 
ferns. You go in for that sort of thing; suppose you 
show them to Miss Van Velssler. You will find them 
at the far end of the conservatory.” 

His majesty gets up with haste very unbecoming to 
royalty, and giving Will a glance which silently swears 
friendship for life, says, to Viva: “Will you permit 
me?” 

Mr. Harris watches them, with a smile in his expres- 
sive gray eyes, as they cross the lawn, and says: “ They 
are a handsome couple, certainly. Come, via petite, 
we will not be needed in these parts, so we’ll go for a 
row,” and he tucks Dot’s arm in his and they go to- 
wards the river. 


CHAPTER IX. 


It is the afternoon of the last day of their stay. 
Their railings are all in vain. The days have fairly 
raced by. Old Time has turned the glass as relentlessly 
as though there were no such things as disagreeable ex- 
aminations awaiting one. Last night Devereau Gay- 
braith came, and Dot has persuaded her mother to let 
her stay a few days longer, to do homage to the auto- 
crat of the household, instead of returning to Rich- 
mond, in the morning, with Viva. 

Mr. Gaybraith is standing at the window, as Viva 
and Charlie come up the steps and on the balcony. 
Mr. Gaybraith sees him bend to her and say something 
evidently amusing, for she looks up at him a moment, 
then laughs merrily, and his musical laughter blends 
with hers. 

“What a deuced, pretty girl,“ thinks the gentleman 
from Harvard, with a frown, as he remembers she 
evidently prefers “ this brass-button fellow” to his 
usually irresistible self. . “ If I had known there had 
been anything like that here, I would have hurried 
home.” Aloud he saysr “What women see in brass 
buttons to go so confoundedly mad about I can’t im- 
agine. Fancy a woman falling in love with a man 
wearing that duck-tail coat,” with a glance at Will’s 
full-dress jacket. 

“Don’t grow envious, my dear cousin,” says Will 
68 


N-AVAL CAPET CATLVLE'S GLOVE. 69 

calmly, as h.e turns a leaf of his book. “ You’d wear 
it, too, only the life is too hard.” 

“ Hard ? Nonsense. It is the laziest existence in 
the world.” 

“If you tried it fora week, you’d discover it was 
all work, from gunfire in the morning, through hard- 
learned lessons in the section-rooms, drills in the after- 
noon, carrying guns your boasted college eight would 
shudder at, to taps at night, when our little iron beds 
and hard pillows feel like softest down.” 

“Well, it seems that the first classmen, at least, 
have nothing to do but flirt with the officers’ wives.” 

“You mean the affair of Lieutenant Minow’s wife 
and our classmate, Ed. Trickerton,” says Charlie, who 
has entered during the last speech. 

“Yes,” defiantly meeting the searching gaze. 

“Well,” continues Charlie, “that was very unfortu- 
nate, but there are foolish, weak women, jealous hus- 
bands and men who are willing to be flirted with in 
every grade of society. Mrs. Minow threw herself in 
his way — positively refused to give an ‘at home’ with- 
out him; consulted him about her invitation list, and 
sent for him, if by chance he did not go to her on 
Wednesday afternoon, when we have half-holiday, as 
perhaps you know. Lieutenant Minow grew jealous, 
and not being able to make anything out of it but that 
his silly wife showed a decided preference for a fasci- 
nating first classman (he couldn’t very well bring a court- 
martial on those grounds), why he took what petty re- 
venge he could, and marked dear old Trick down in 
Math., having him in his section twice during the first 
term. Trick got way below two-five in Math., and 


70 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


that, of course, bilged him. After he left the Acad- 
emy, Mrs. Minow wrote to him a very damaging letter — 
it came to my knowledge quite accidentally; those weak 
women, who are unable to prevent such a scene have 
no more sense than to commit themselves on paper. 
But Trick was too much of a gentleman to show the 
letter to the proper authorities and prove that he was 
unfairly treated, but suffered in silence for the sake of 
a woman whom he did not even like — in fact, had a con- 
tempt for. As I say, there are silly women and jealous 
husbands in every class of society, and the man, naval 
officer or cit., who positively declines to be flirted with 
when a rather pretty woman throws herself at his head 
in so marked a manner, is exceptional. In no profes- 
sion in the world can there be found nobler, truer, more 
honorable men, or fairer, purer women than in the United 
States Navy.” 

“Bravo, mo7i prince.,'' says Will. 

“ And it is not half so bad as the affair at your alma 
mater last year,” says Dot, with wide open, indignant 
eyes, “ when two hot-headed Westerners played poker 
for the hand of a Boston belle and were expelled for it. 
Imagine her horror at having her name in the headlines 
of every leading daily in the country! ” 

“ A truce,” cries Dev. “ There is Miss Van Velssler, 
and wearing the brass buttons too — four to one. Have 
mercy,” recovering his good humor. 

“You came too late for the discussion,” says the 
Prince to her. “ But you promised me the pleasure of 
a last row with you this afternoon. I hope you. have 
not forgotten.” 

“Take care, Carlyle, that you get back in time to 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 71 

leave on the. six o’clock train. We must go this even- 
ing, remember. And knowing you of old, what risks 
you run in catching a train, I’d advise you to pack your 
things before you go for your row,” says Will. 

“Quite right, most philosophical of cadets; you’ll 
be an admiral yet. I’ll only keep you waiting a mo- 
ment, Miss Van Velssler,” and he leaves the room. 

After a short time he returns, the dark blue “ duck- 
tail coat,” as Dev would say, with its double row of 
brass buttons, fastened high around his fair throat, and 
fitting his superb figure to perfection. The uniform is 
becoming to all blond men. 

“I am ready. ‘Come, smile on your oarsman, your 
most willing slave, ’” he says to Viva, bowing before her. 

“ A great amount of rowing you are going to do in 
that jacket, I’m sure. I am to row you up the stream, 
I suppose,” she answers. 

“Just so it is not up Salt Creek, I don’t care.” 

“Take your watch. Miss Viva. You know cadets 
are not allowed such luxuries, — and make him remember 
his train,” Mr. Harris called after them as they disap- 
pear down the drive. 

“ You sit in the rear of the boat and watch my oars, 
and we won’t be so apt to get them tangled,” says Viva, 
seating herself. 

He gets in and tips the boat from side to side. The 
crushing look of mock contempt she bestows upon him 
shows him his little attempt at making her nervous has 
failed signally. 

“ Raise your oars and let me pull out first,” he laughs. 
“ Now, ready! ” 

A few strokes and they are nearly in the middle of 


72 


MAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 


the river. There had been a slight shower just after 
luncheon; the leaves are still wet with little sparkling 
drops of water, and gleam like diamonds in the soft 
April sunshine. They cross the river and float along 
by the Indiana bank. They have drifted into a little 
bend, shaded by a drooping willow, whose branches 
reach almost to the water. The oars swing idly in the 
locks. She has half turned in her seat and faces the 
opposite shore. She tosses her broad hat in the bot- 
tom of the boat, and opens her light coat, being 
heated by the exercise. He has a view of her profile. 

“How beautiful you are, my darling,” he whispers, 
“ against that swaying, glittering green background. 
You ought always to wear green, it brings out the rich- 
ness of your hair, and the seashell tints of your com- 
plexion. I would love to paint you as you sit there, 
with that dreamy expression in your eyes, and those 
little drops of water which have fallen from the leaves 
in your fluffy, curling hair, and call it ‘Between the 
Showers.’ You ought to be crowned ‘April’s Lady.’ 
Surely Swinburne meant you when he wrote that,” he 
adds, twisting into a wreath a branch he has idly pulled 
and placing it on her head. 

“ Oh, Charlie, you have crowned me with weeping 
willow,” she cries, taking it off and gazing at him with 
a startled look in her violet eyes. 

He is silent for a moment, seeing how earnest and 
moved she is, then laughs as he takes her in his arms. 

“ How foolish, my darling,” he murmurs. “ You have 
got some superstitious nonsense in your pretty little 
head, taught you, no doubt, by your old negro servants. 
How absurd ! ” 


Naval cadet Carlyle^ s glove. 


73 


She smiles into his eyes again. 

“ How I am to bear those miserable two years while 
I am on my cruise I don’t see,” he continues. “ Every 
moment till I am with you again will be an agony.” 

“ Do you feel like that ?” she asks curiously. 

“Will the time not seem long to you?” he demands 
eagerly, not noticing her question. 

“Yes, I will miss you very much, but I do not feel 
like that,” she says truthfully. “I am very fond of 
you,” she quickly adds, seeing how badly he is taking it; 
“ in fact, you are the only person in all the world, since 
auntie has gone, except perhaps Judge Vane, who is 
truly interested in my welfare. I look upon you as my 
best friend, and I give you every confidence, every 
trust.” 

“Your trust shall not be misplaced, sweetheart, I 
swear. Prove your faith in me by marrying me at 
once, before I leave. I could bear the separation if I 
knew you were irrevocably mine. You promised last 
night to become my wife after my final exam., so what 
difference can it make ? If you mean to be true to me, 
marry me now.” 

She looks at him in utter surprise, then seeing he is 
dreadfully in earnest, says, “ What a waste of breath. 
You know as well as I you cannot marry while you 
are a cadet.” 

“Then you must marry me secretly, and after my 
cruise I’ll come for you and we can be married again 
with all the show of a naval blow-out. Only I must be 
sure of you now. You do not care very much for me, 
my beautiful, and I am afraid you will not stand the 
test of separation.” 


74 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


“ Would you not be afraid to marry me under those 
circumstances?” she asks. 

“Afraid? No, of nothing, so long as I have you. 
Then you inust grow to care for me, seeing I love you 
and worship you so. Come, sweetheart, will you 
marry me now?” 

“ What would your father. Commander Carlyle, say*?” 
she asks, fencing in the true, exasperating woman 
fashion. 

A dark flush mounts to his brow ; he loosens his arms 
from about her. He pictures to himself the beloved 
father, living so simply on his quiet plantation in 
Louisiana. What would that grand old retired officer, 
whose heart is divided between the service and his idol- 
ized son, say to such an act? He puts the thought 
from him. 

“ I don’t care what any one says. The whole world 
might talk itself hoarse, and I’d only listen for the 
little word you are so maddeningly slow to utter,” he 
says passionately. 

He has pressed her so close to his breast that the 
eagles on his buttons have dented the rounded cheek. 
She closes her eyes. It is very sweet, this boyish 
homage he offers her. She is so alone in the world, 
not a friend in the whole universe. She has been so 
accustomed to having to decide her own course; has 
done such battle with the world in her short life ; every 
inch of ground is contested at college, and it will be 
worse after her school days are over, when the friend- 
ships which brighten her life now are broken. He is 
so young, so hopeful, so determined to conquer fate, 
he sweeps her off her feet. He is looking at her and 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 75 

waiting for her to speak. Freeing herself from him, 
she says: 

“ If I consented, such a thing would be impossible. 
Aside from the regulations of the navy, which do not 
permit the cadets to marry, we are on Kentucky soil, 
and you, most ancient sir, who are so anxious to rush 
into the galling bonds of matrimony are within ten 
days of being one-and-twenty. Hence you cannot be 
married in Kentucky without the consent of your guar- 
dians. ” 

“We are on Indiana soil,” he says triumphantly, 
“ and a few paces down the road is the clerk of the 
county court, and only a little way beyond lives an 
Episcopal minister. I know the place well, for Will 
teased Dot last summer about its facilities if ever she 
wanted to run away. So you see there is nothing to 
prevent us from being married at once.” 

One oar is imbedded in the red mud of the bank, the 
other creaks in the locks, as with a seething little noise 
the water swishes it about. A sprig of willow blows 
against her face, and leaves a rain drop on her cheek; 
it looks like a tear. His devotion to her is very beauti- 
ful, but presently she must force herself to tell him that 
it must not be, that she cannot permit him to do this 
thing which might ruin his career. 

“In June we can be married openly, before you go 
on the cruise,” she says. 

“ But a thousand things might happen to prevent. I 
might be ordered away at once, and moreover we finish 
two weeks before you; your examinations will be in 
progress then, and do you suppose Miss Hammer would 
give her consent? No, indeed; she would say that 


76 


NAVAL Cadet Carlyle's glove. 


your aunt has placed you in her care, and that you can- 
not stir till the end of the term, so we will have to 
elope in the long run, and why not now ?” 

She glances out over the water. From the cove they 
are in she can see the Cincinnati packet as it passes. 
She watches the waves it makes as they run to the shore, 
then out to mid-river again. She pictures to herself 
what her life will be when this, her only friend, is gone. 
What if she should not be able to secure a position in 
the month allotted to her? Perhaps Miss Hammer 
would keep her, if she can arrange to teach the primary 
grade next year. She shudders at the idea. 

“ What emotions are you concealing under those 
dusky lashes ? ” he asks. “ Look at me. Viva. I believe 
you are yielding. I knew you could not resist such 
pleading. Come,” and he springs to the bank and holds 
out his hands to her. She rises, places her hands in 
his, and he leads her up the path. 

The license is obtained with small ceremony, and 
they stand waiting on the steps of the little church. 
The sexton opens the door, and in a few minutes the 
old minister, who had been peacefully eating his toast 
and tea when he was notified of the pair awaiting him, 
comes slowly in, gowned in his white robe. 

“ I require and charge you both, as ye will answer 
at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of 
all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know 
any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined 
together in matrimony, ye do now confess it,” reads 
the old man, his weak, trembling voice sounding 
strangely through the empty church. Finally he 
pauses, looks over his glasses and waits for the ring. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 77 

They look at each other blankly for a moment. They 
had not thought of a ring. Then Charlie remembers 
his class ring, and draws it off and places it on the 
third finger of her left hand. 

“‘Those whom God hath joined together, let no man 
put asunder,’” falls upon their ears. It is all over. 
In spite of the regulations of the United States Navy, 
by all the laws of God and man, they are irrevocably 
married. She has forgotten the careful training Miss 
Carrol of Glenwood has taken such pains to bestow, 
and he has forgotten his duty to the Government whose 
uniform he is wearing. They pass silently out into the 
crimson evening light. The old rector glances curi- 
ously after them, then with a sigh, perhaps for his own 
lost youth, goes slowly back to. his lonely cup of tea. 

“Now you are mine forever,” says Charlie as he 
raises her hand to his lips and kisses the ring. 

She is very pale. Her large eyes have a frightened 
look in them. After all, what a mad thing it is! What 
would Miss Hammer say ? At this thought a shudder 
passes over her. 

“Look!” she says, glancing at a tiny watch in a 
crystal ball hanging from her belt, “ you will probably 
miss your train.” 

“Good heavens! I had forgotten it. We must 
hurry.” 

It had rained slightly while they were in the church. 
The ground near the boat is very wet. She steps on 
the pliant ground, and one little slippered foot sinks up 
to the ankle in the mud. Putting one arm about her, 
he lightly swings her into the boat. 

“ I want you to promise to send me, by to-morrow 


78 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


morning’s express, the slippers you are wearing. Will 
you, Viva?” 

“Yes, I promise; only hurry,” taking up the oars. 

When they reach Riverside, Mrs. Gaybraith, Dot, and 
Dev are assembled on the balcony. 

“ I feared the boat had capsized or that something 
had happened,” says Mrs. Gaybraith anxiously. “Will 
went half an hour ago. He left word for you, Mr. Car- 
lyle, that he could not wait, and hoped you would be 
able to explain satisfactorily your delay to the com- 
mandant.” 

“ I am very sorry, but we went too far down the river, 
and the current was very strong coming back,” says 
Charlie. 

“He has evidently proposed and been accepted,” 
thinks Dev as he looks at Viva and keenly observes 
the large class ring on her hand. 

“ Well, we are glad it is not an accident, and that we 
will have you another evening,” says Dot lightly, 
“ And, Van, you have just twenty minutes to change 
those wrecks of once lovely slippers and get ready for 
dinner,” leading the way into the house. 

Mr. Carlyle flashes her a look at the mention of the 
slippers, which reminds her of her promise, and she 
smiles for the first time since that mad, foolish mar- 
riage and disappears up the stairway. A housemaid is 
passing through the corridor as she enters her room. 

“ Come, Martha, and help me get ready, if you are not 
busy,” Viva calls to her. She glances at the clock. 
“Scarcely seventeen minutes to make myself present- 
able!” she thinks as she tosses off her hat and jacket. 
“ Heigho, what a world ! The whole current of our 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


79 


lives may change, the whole universe may turn upside 
down, but we must dress for dinner, all the same. Here 
am I who would give anything for a half-hour’s quiet 
to meditate on my insane act, as auntie and Miss Ham- 
mer would call it,” with a little moue and a snap of her 
slender pink fingers, intended for those spinsters re- 
spectively, as she twists her hair in a loose knot; “here 
am I running a perfect race with Time to array me for 
a conventional dinner party. What did you say, 
Martha? The dark green gown hanging in front of the 
wardrobe,” indicating a gown that has: seen long ser- 
vice at the concerts and recitals at Hammer College. 
“ The idea of this being my wedding gown, when Gladys 
thought it too rusty to bring!” as she kicks the drag- 
gled boating gown out of her way. 

Martha picks it up and brushes off the mud. Viva 
takes off the soiled gray slippers and puts them in the 
box in which Dev sent her a bunch of Easter lilies this 
morning, then addresses it to “ Naval Cadet Charles 
Carlyle.” 

“That will do, Martha; and I am much obliged to 
you for your assistance. Take this package and place 
it on the bureau in Mr. Carlyle’s room. Ah, just in 
time!” as the bell rings. Hurriedly pinning the dainty 
lilies in her girdle, she goes down. 

It is the next morning and very cold. The weather 
is still gloomy. There is a beating, drizzling rain that 
comes down with a steadiness that is exasperating in 
the extreme. 

“ There ought to be a law against trains leaving at 
such an unholy hour,” says Viva, coming into the din- 
ing room, where she finds Pot struggling valiantly to 


8o 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


keep awake. “Ugh! the dampness goes all through 
one, and how uncanny the lamplights look in the faint 
gleams of day! How lovely of you to see me off, dear! 
Think of spoiling one whole day of your short holiday 
by rising early in the morning!” 

“ It was very much of a wrench, and I don’t know that 
even your manifold charms would usually be sufficient 
to drag me from my downy couch, but it gives me the 
horrors to leave a place early in the morning with no 
one but the servants to say good-by to, and then I feel 
like a little criminal for not going with you.” 

“ There, dear, don’t say any more. Of course I un- 
derstand that you want to see something of your 
brother, and I would not go a minute sooner than nec- 
essary for anything. Not having the honor of being a 
full graduate of Hammer College, if you arrive in time 
for the astronomy exam, next week it will be all right, 
and I don’t mind going alone at all.” 

“Ahem; though I say it who shouldn’t, perhaps, but 
I am going on this train, and I hope I count for some- 
thing,” says Mr. Carlyle, entering. 

“ Not you,” says Dot, in fine scorn, beginning to feel 
the effects of the loss of her morning nap. “You’ll no 
doubt be the nuisance that a man usually is in a car, 
wearing one out with your restlessness, and making one 
feel that one is responsible for the inconveniences of 
travel that an imperfect age has failed to alleviate, and 
that for the ills of this particular journey one is held 
directly accountable; all the time keeping one busy 
ringing for the porter, looking up the train-boy, ar- 
ranging your time-card, and doing all one can to make 
Reparation to your lordship.” 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 8i 

“ What, our own sweet Dot turned cynic ? Certainly 
early rising is not good for little girls,” laughs he. 
“ Any way it is unfair to condemn me without a trial. I 
but ask the opportunity to take you on a railway jour- 
ney with me, to prove to you what a treasure I can be.” 

You are safe in offering,” as her tiny hands flit over 
the cups. “ Come, Viva, tear yourself away from the 
fire long enough to eat something.” 

“ I can’t,” shivering. “ I do not want anything; be- 
sides we get to Louisville in time for breakfast.” 

“At least let me bring you some coffee,” says 
Charlie, placing a gypsy table on the rug beside her 
and putting a cup of coffee and a plate of buttered rolls 
on it. 

She smiles and stirs the coffee, but they notice she 
does not drink it. 

“ The cart is ready, and only twenty-five minutes to 
drive to the station,” says Hopkins, entering. 

Dot picks up Viva’s jacket and puts it on her, fast- 
ening the collar high about her throat. Viva submits 
passively to having herself wrapped to an unusual de- 
gree. 

They go to the front door, and as it is opened a gust 
of wind bursts through the hall, blowing up the mats 
and shaking the chairs. 

“If I were in anything but a house gown, I’d cer- 
tainly go with you. Van. I am afraid something will 
happen to you. I have a strange presentiment about it,” 
says Dot, with tears in her eyes. 

“Nonsense,” says Viva, pressing the little hands 
she holds. “ I have travelled alone before, and Mr. 
Carlyle will be with me as far as Louisville, and after 
6 


82 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


that the only change will be just from one car to the 
next.” 

The horses tear impatiently at their bits and shake 
the water viciously from their manes. Good-bys are 
said hurriedly. Charlie goes down the steps. Viva is 
about to follow him. Dot springs forward. 

“Don’t go yet, Viva,” she says; “I cannot let you,” 
clasping her arms about Viva and, tiptoeing, raises her 
face to be kissed. Viva takes the little figure in her 
arms and strokes the brown curls. “ I wish I were go- 
ing with you,” says Dot wistfully. 

“So do I, little one; but you will come soon. Now 
once more, good-by,” unclasping the clinging arms and 
running down the steps before they can detain her 
again. 

“We will have to drive rapidly or miss the train 
again,” says Charlie, as he places Viva on the side 
sheltered by the curtains, wraps the rugs about her and 
seats himself beside her. “Ready, Hopkins,” he says 
to the groom. 

“Go in the house. Dot; you will take your death of 
cold,” Viva calls out. 

Dot shakes her head. As they stop to open the gate, 
they look back and see a little figure standing in the 
doorway, with her brown curls all damp and the wind 
blowing her scarf out behind her. 

“Dear little thing,” says Viva; “if we were parting 
for ages, she could not have felt it more.” 

“ If she, a mere child, could not bear to part with you 
for a few days, how could you reasonably suppose I 
could put up with the idea of not seeing you for two 
years and fearing all the time I might lose you?” 


NAVAL CADET CALL VLB'S GLOVE, 


83 


The damp wind blows her hair back from her face, 
but even the dull, gray morning light fails to find a 
flaw in her complexion. It is faultless. When they 
arrive at the station there is the usual bustle that train- 
time engenders at a small place. The ticket agent tells 
them that the train is forty minutes late. The waiting- 
room is small, dreadfully overheated, and suffocating 
with tobacco smoke. Viva suggests that they remain 
on the platform, which is fairly well sheltered from the 
weather. He arranges a seat for her on a baggage 
truck, and covers her with his top coat, which he de- 
clares he finds too warm. 

“Ah, sweetheart, you are really mine! I have to 
keep telling myself so, to prevent my thinking it is too 
good to be true. When I saw my ring on your hand 
this morning, I could scarcely refrain from claiming 
you before them all. You shall never regret it, I 
swear. Promise me that you will not want it undone.” 

“ How can I say ?” she answers, looking far away, 
while a shadow, perhaps of coming evil, crosses her 
face. “ I have simply bound irrevocably my best 
friend to me. I do not see why I should regret it. 
You know I have made no pretence of deceiving you. 
I do not care for you as you do for me — ” 

“That would be impossible,” raising her hand to his 
lips. She does not seem to have heard him. Her 
eyes are looking into space, as though she is trying to 
pierce “ the future’s great veil. ” Withdrawing her hand 
from his, she continues: 

“ No, I cannot say whether I will ever want it un- 
done or not; but I will always care for you as I do now, 
at least, and I will be true to you,” 


84 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


You could not help it,” he says, “ you will be true to 
yourself — 

“ ‘And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man.’ ” 

A freight train comes in with the sharp, piercing 
shriek of its kind, and is sidetracked for the pas- 
senger. 

“ If our train does not come soon, I fear we will miss 
connection at Louisville,” says Charlie. 

“Well, I reckon you’ll do it, any way,” says the ex- 
press agent, who is passing. “ There is a washout up 
the road, and last night’s express is waiting yet at the 
junction, and you will catch ’em before the road is 
passable.” 

“What a joke!” says the Prince. “Fancy running 
in on Will ! I can picture his disgust, especially when 
I tease him with his crushing little remark about hop- 
ing I could explain my delay to the commandant,” and 
he throws his handsome head back and laughs mer- 
rily. 

Viva tries to frown down his evident enjoyment of 
his wrong-doing, but finally gives way and laughs with 
him. 

The station hands pause in their work for a moment, 
to look at Viva and Charlie, then continue piling up the 
heavy trunks more light-heartedly. Youth, with its fire 
and vivacity, always inspires energy. One can but en- 
joy its merriment, even though “ one sees the folly of 
it.” 

At last their train comes. They reach the junction, 
after a short run, and are attached to the express. 

“ Oho, one time the early worm was a duffer to be 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S CLOVE. 85 

out!” says Charlie to Mr. Harris, as he enters the 
sleeper. 

“You are a confounded nuisance — ah, beg pardon, 
Miss Van Velssler,” says that gentleman, rising and 
tossing his pillows, books and satchel into the next sec- 
tion. “ But I might have known something would 
happen. I firmly believe it was an especial dispensa- 
tion of the evil one that caused this bridge to be 
washed away, because this proNgd of his was left be- 
hind, and so that he could prove an alibi to the com- 
mandant. Here are the morning papers with an ac- 
count of the affair: the down train ran off the bridge 
and several lives were lost, ^ye will be delayed twelve 
hours, as, of course, we cannot reach Louisville for the 
morning train. We are due there now.” 

“ It was certainly a piece of luck for Mr. Carlyle that, 
as there was an accident, it occurred last night,” says 
Viva as she reaches out for the Courier- Journal. 

Mr. Harris observes his class ring on her hand ; she 
sees that he does, and smiles at and appreciates his 
sudden and violent interest in the landscape. They 
make themselves as comfortable as possible — the car is 
not crowded — and spend the morning pleasantly, read- 
ing, in turns, a new play, the present sensation, and 
with a basket of fruit within easy reach. 

At last they pull out and reach Louisville about one 
o’clock. 

“ We would better have our luggage transferred to the 
other depot, go to the Willard Hotel for dinner, then 
take a drive,” says Charlie. 

“That would be pleasant,” says Viva, “if one does 
not care what sort of weather one drives in.” 


86 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


“What better would you want?” says the Prince. 
“Hasn’t it cleared off beautifully? And who ever saw 
Louisville when it was not delightful to drive over her 
perfect streets? Even an hour after the equinoctial 
storm, it is enjoyable.” 

“ The Board of Trade here ought to engage you as an 
advertising medium,” says Will. 

When they arrive at the hotel Mr. Carlyle says: 
“Will, I’ll register and engage the carriage, while you 
go to the parlor and wait there for me with Miss Van 
Velssler.” 

He pauses before the name, and, for the first time it 
strikes them both she has no right to it. He is seized 
with an absurd desire to call her Mrs. Carlyle. He 
goes to the office. The clerk hands him the pen with 
a flourish. He writes in his boyish scrawl, “William 
Harris, U. S. N.,” and underneath, “Charles Carlyle 
and wife, Louisiana.” He has the grace to leave off the 
letters after his name. “ We are only here en passant^ and 
no one knows us. What can it matter?” is the thought 
with which he consoles himself for his childish act. 

No one noticed that as they were getting out of the 
carriage Mr. Carlyle dropped one of his white gloves. 
A woman, passing, looked at the party a moment, and 
murmured to herself : “ Could that have been Viva Van 
Velssler? Those men certainly looked like the photo 
Dot has on her bureau of her cousin and his room- 
mate. Ah, I thought so,” picking up the white glove 
and reading the name on the inside. “I’ll investi- 
gate,” and Miss Cockerill turned into the hotel, her 
small eyes glittering like a basilisk’s, and her red cheeks 
more aflame than ever. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 


B7 


Going up to the register, she read the names; in- 
quired of the clerk the plans of the party, and then to 
make assurance doubly sure, she went up to the dining- 
room door and saw them as they sat at the table. 
Charlie was bending towards Viva and laughing at some 
remark of hers; Mr. Harris was waiting upon her with 
courteous solicitude. They looked the picture of hap- 
piness. Miss Cockerill gazed at them a moment, then 
hurriedly lowered her veil and turned away. First tak- 
ing the precaution to take down the number of the 
register and the page, with the name of the hotel, 
though there is no likelihood of her forgetting either, 
she wrapped the paper about the white glove, and stor- 
ing both away in a satchel hanging from her belt de- 
parted. 

“We three will not dine together again soon,” says 
Mr. Harris, as he pushes aside his coffee-cup. 

“ Quit croaking, old raven, and don’t spoil the delight- 
ful present by the reminder that it is fleeting,” says 
Charlie. 

“Stern duty compels me to inform you that time 
is,” says Will, laughing. 

They get up. Will lifting Viva’s chair aside for her to 
pass, then following her and Charlie down the aisle. 
Viva and Charlie certainly are a handsome couple; as 
they pass out of the room together many admiring eyes 
follow them. The dark-blue serge travelling gown she 
is wearing is identically the color of his uniform. 

“ Who is the remarkably pretty girl with the brass- 
button fellow ? ” a young railroad man asks the man with 
whom he is dining. . “ Look as though they might be 
brother and sister.” 


88 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 


“No,” says the friend, glancing over his paper, “he 
is too attentive by far. Their coloring is somewhat 
the same, though hers is richer, more of a red.” 

The railroad youth loses interest, and buries himself 
in a document showing that the other road has been 
cutting the rates sub rosa. 

“I’ll go down and see if the carriage has come,” 
says Will, as they stop at the rotunda. 

“While I run over to Wolfe’s and get a package I 
ordered a few days ago. I’ll only be gone a moment,” 
says Charlie. 

In a few moments he comes back with a package in 
his hands. 

“ I want you to promise to wear this always for my 
sake, sweetheart,” he says, going up to Viva and taking 
out of the box a slender gold bracelet fastened with a tiny 
heart set with pearls, and across the back of the heart 
is engraved “Sweet.” The workmanship is exquisite. 

“It is beautiful,” she says. “It would not be hard 
to promise always to wear anything so lovely.” 

Taking her hand, he clasps it on her firm, strong, 
though delicately moulded wrist. At this moment Will 
enters. He has come too far to retreat, and hesitates, 
when Viva calls him to her. 

“ Is it not lovely ? ” she says holding up her arm. 

“It is perfect,” taking her hand and pressing it 
warmly between both his own. “ And there is no one 
I had rather have seen place it there than my best 
friend,” his true gray eyes looking into hers with 
kindly interest. 

“Thanks, old fellow,” says Charlie, laying his hand 
on the shoulder of his friend. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 89 

A bellboy appears, gathers up their satchels and 
books, and leads the way to the elevator. 

“ We drive out Chestnut Street to the river, I sup- 
pose,” says Viva, as she arranges the robe. 

“No, indeed!” says Charlie, shocked beyond expres- 
sion. “ Don’t you know that Louisville is nothing 
if not fickle, and the Chestnut drive is no longer comme 
il fautl The swell set drive only on the Third Avenue 
Boulevard.” 

“ So glad you told us. Think of being guilty of 
such a faux pas !” laughs Will, as he leans back in a 
corner of the carriage. 

The air is crisp and delightful, after the storm of 
yesterday. The top of the carriage is thrown back. 
They go out Third Avenue, with its double line of 
magnificent homes, and through the Court, with its air 
of dignified exclusiveness, returning through Central 
Park. 

“To the C. and O. depot,” Will finally says to the 
driver. “ A great idea that was. Miss Viva, of taking 
our belongings from the hotel, to save the trouble of 
returning for them. Our train leaves ten minutes be- 
fore yours, I believe. We will see you on, then make 
a rush for our car. I wired for your berth this morning 
from the junction.” 

“ You did ?” says Charlie in surprise. 

“ Of course, knowing better than to leave a matter 
requiring a little forethought to you.” 

“If there is a person I’d like to banish eternally 
from the light of my presence and have a stinging con- 
tempt for, it is one who goes through the world show- 
ing one’s little deficiencies, and with a serene conscious- 


90 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


ness of a duty well performed,” says Charlie. After a 
moment, he asks in a most conciliatory tone: “I hope, 
my dear fellow, you extended your usual thoughtful- 
ness to your appreciative friend. Did you secure me a 
berth when you wired ?” 

But Mr. Harris scorns to answer, and the gentleman 
is left in uncertainty whether he will have a place to- 
night to lay his handsome head or be obliged to keep 
a lonely watch in the smoker. 

“Hurry up, Charlie; we have no time to lose,” says 
Will when they arrive at the depot. 

As they enter the Richmond sleeper, they observe 
two of the Hammer girls, chaperoned by Miss Lucy 
Cockerill, seated in the first section. 

“That dreadful, chattering Watson girl,” says Viva 
sotto voce to Charlie. “ The young woman who allowed 
herself to be interviewed by Miss Hammer about poor 
little Dot opening the letter-box.” 

One would think, however, that Viva was her best 
friend from the way Miss Watson gushes over her. 
The same is due, no doubt, to the fact that Viva has in 
her train two naval cadets. Viva avoids the kiss she 
would bestow, and somewhat calms the gush by her 
own reserve. Bowing to Miss Cockerill, Viva says: 

“ Miss Cockerill, permit me. My friends, Mr. Carlyle 
and Mr. Harris.” Then turning, introduces them to 
Gladys and Minnie Watson, the latter entering at once 
into an animated conversation, on her part at least, 
with Mr. Carlyle, much to the disgust of that gentle- 
man. 

“We have been visiting a schoolmate near here, and 
came up this morning to do some shopping. Have you 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 91 

been here all day ? Oh, missed the morning train, did 
you? How fortunate for us!” with a coquettish little 
glance. “We were at the Louisville Hotel : the Ham- 
mer girls always meet there after the holidays. It is so 
pleasant; then we know who is going back. By the 
way, where were you all day ?” says Miss Watson with 
wonderful vivacity. 

Viva wonders if it is imagination, or does Will press 
Charlie’s arm as he pushes him out of the way, and, 
going towards Miss Watson and seating himself on the 
arm of the section, says: 

“You see we did not arrive till after one o’clock, 
then spent the whole afternoon in driving.” Where- 
upon Miss Watson, aware that Charlie fails to appreci- 
ate her charms as he might, turns her attention to Will. 

“Be very careful what you write to me,” Viva is 
saying to Charlie, a short distance off. “Your letters 
may be read; Miss Hammer is very watchful about 
the mail.” 

“ But there will be nothing to prevent your writing to 
me, thanks to the day pupils, who will mail your let- 
ters. Will is saying good-by. How can I leave you, 
sweetheart?” looking at her, with his soul in his hand- 
some eyes. “ Will you add another favor to the already 
overflowing list ? I want your photograph taken in the 
boating gown you wore yesterday afternoon. I will 
always think of you as I saw you then, when you stood 
by my side at the little wooden altar, with the rain- 
drops in your beautiful hair, and gowned in boating — ” 

“But,” interrupting him, “would you rather have my 
picture in that old thing than in my commencement 
gown?” with a tiny bit of vanity. 


92 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


“ I’d rather have it in that than in the coronation robe 
of a princess,” he says. 

“I will send it, then,” slowly withdrawing her hands 
from his, and looking at him through the tears which 
fill her big eyes. 

The others have risen and are in the aisle. Viva 
forces Charlie to join them. 

“Good-by, little friend,” says Will, taking Viva’s 
hand. “ I hope I will see you again before I go on my 
cruise.” 

Viva clings to his hand. She seems to have an odd 
fancy his presence will save her from some danger. 
He seems to her so good, so strong, so free from the 
boyish recklessness of his debonair friend. He reads 
something of the kind in her lifted, troubled eyes, for, 
bending toward her, he says: 

“ I wish you ev.ery happiness, my dear, and if at any 
time I can be of service to you, you will let me know. 
Call upon me as freely as Dot would. I need not tell 
you how gladly I would respond.” 

“Yes, I know; thank you,” is all she can answer. 

“ Now, Mr. Carlyle, if I send you cards to our com- 
mencement, will you promise to come?” says Miss 
Watson prettily. 

“I certainly will do all in my power to come,” he 
answers, so earnestly that Minnie lowers her lids and 
blushes consciously, which causes the grave eyes of 
Will to twinkle with amusement, and that gentleman 
has to bite his lips to keep from smiling. 

“ Come, girls, let us go to the rear platform and see 
them off,” adds Minnie. 

“ Do,” says Charlie, falling back with Viva. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


93 


As they go through the passage which cuts the draw- 
ing-room oif from the main car, Charlie manages to 
secure Viva’s hand. 

“Remember, I will live on your letters; do not starve 
me utterly,” he whispers. 

“Come,” says Will, pointing to their engine, which 
is giving ominous snorts, as he drags Charlie off. 

They hurry across the track and get on their car as 
it begins to move. They stand on the platform till 
they pass the other car, then lean forward, lift their 
caps and are soon lost to sight. 

The girls go back into the sleeper. Miss Watson’s 
vivacity leaves her, and she buries herself in the mysteries 
of a French novel. Miss Cockerill, not understanding 
French, is deluded by the fairy tale that it is in the 
course of reading prescribed by the French instructor. 

Gladys knows it is useless to expect confidences from 
Viva, and stands too much in awe of her to question her, 
but quietly accepts such crumbs of information as are 
offered. About the holidays at Riverside, though, 
Gladys is curious. 

“Why didn’t Dot come with you?” she finally asks. 

“ Stayed to see her brother, who only arrived day be- 
fore yesterday. Now, little Gladys, don’t talk any 
more, I am tired,” laying her head in Gladys’ lap, and 
closing her eyes. 

Miss Cockerill sits with her arm resting on the win- 
dow-sill, her handkerchief in her hand and pressed to 
her cheek, almost concealing her face, and with her 
eyes fixed on the flying landscape. 

“ Now, my haughty one, I fancy we carx have a reck- 
oning,” she thinks. 


94 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


They reach Richmond late the next night, but remain 
in the sleeper till morning, arriving at Hammer Col- 
lege for breakfast. The first day at boarding-school 
after a holiday is always doleful. The girls who have 
remained have had nothing to occupy their minds but 
homesickness, and those who have been home and 
are returning feel the bondage all the more, in con- 
trast to the recent gayeties. There are no lessons till 
afternoon. Viva takes her books and goes to the 
laboratory. There she finds Professor Wilson, instruc- 
tor of Chemistry and Mathematics. 

“How do you do, my dear? I heard you had re- 
turned,” says the old man, leaving one of his pet ex- 
periments and going towards her. “ There, child, don’t 
shake hands with me, my hands are all stained. Well, 
how did you enjoy your holiday ?” 

“I fear some day I’ll regret I went, ’Fessor,” using 
the class name for him. They say that they all go to 
him with their trials and woes, and that confessor is as 
justly his title as professor, hence they abbreviate it. 

She seats herself on his desk and leans her head 
against one of the astronomical globes, shielding her 
face with her arm. 

“ I hope not, I hope not, ” as he strokes her bowed head, 
a troubled look coming into his calm, thoughtful face. 

He does not ask her what is the matter. That is why 
the girls are so fond of him: he does not seek to know 
what ails them and why, but recognizes that they are 
in trouble, and with gentleness and kindly sympathy 
comforts them. He soon draws her attention from 
herself and with her is going over the points in the 
mathematical examination for to-morrow. 


CHAPTER X. 


The last few weeks have dragged along monot- 
onously at Hammer College. Perhaps the only change 
is that the punishments have been more numerous and 
heavier. The lessons are required to be confined more 
closely than ever, if possible, to the text-books — 
not a sentence can be transposed ; nor is the teacher 
permitted to ask a question beyond, “Will you begin 
please. Miss Blank ?” What if the poor little wretches 
do rebel and go home ? Whose loss is it, pray ? Is it not 
the last quarter, and is it not paid for? The terms of 
Hammer College are strictly in advance, if you please. 

• “See here. Viva Van Velssler, this shall not go on,” 
says Puss, bursting open the door of Viva’s room and 
standing in a menacing attitude, her pen and tablet in 
her hand. “ I have no objection to your being a raving 
maniac and calling out at the top of your lungs, ‘Halt, 
or your blood be on your own head!’ till the people in 
the street avoid the place as they would an asylum; 
or informing all whom it may concern, in a piercing 
tone, that ‘King Jo — hn doth approach!’ But I do 
strenuously object to your becoming a gibbering idiot 
and muttering in that exasperating manner. Do you 
know that I am in the next room trying to coax matter 
out of my tired brain for my graduating essay ? How 
can you expect me to have an idea with this insane 
muttering going on beside me ?” 


96 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


“ Come in, Puss. I am only practising my aspirates 
and some exercises in articulation. Of course, as they 
are only for pronunciation, they do not have to be 
spoken very loud, like those calls you speak of, which 
give volume to the voice,” says Viva. 

“ What is the use of trying to explain true art to such 
a heathen ?” says Miss Miller, as she turns the page of a 
soiled, ragged, little yellow book. 

“Another of those yellow fiends pursues me,” says 
Miss Griswold, in horror. “ Once upon a time, this den 
was a harbor of rest for the weary and heavy laden; a 
place of peace and comfort — yea, even of fun and 
frolic. Know ye all men that now ‘Old times are 
changed, old manners gone’ ; it has become an abode 
of harpies, who destroy sweet-eyed Peace, and make 
night hideous.” 

“ Am I interrupting a rehearsal ?” says Dot, hesitating 
in the door. 

“ Rehearsal is good,” and Puss throws herself on the 
bed laughing. “ No, my unsophisticated, the elocution 
class is not rehearsing Richelieu; they are only doing 
their aspirates. Girl, art thou so utterly devoid of art 
that thou canst not detect the difference between as- 
pirates and Richelieu 2 Avaunt!” 

“How is the play progressing?” asks Dot, seating 
herself on the footboard of the bed — the hostess hav- 
ing one chair, with the other one drawn up before her 
and piled high with books, and Miss Miller having pos- 
session of the window-sill. 

“ Splendidly,” says Jen Miller. “Only it is a mere 
matter of form — the rest of us entering for the medal — 
as Viva has a dear walk-over. ” Half to herself as she 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 97 

turns the page, “Cue, ‘Orleans heeds the traitor.’ 
Then I say — ” 

“A sample of what goes on in here,” interrupts Puss. 
“ I am tempted to give up all idea of an essay and 
favor my audience with something impromptu on 
‘Pictures from Memory’s Wall,’ or something as inanely 
bread-and-butterish, if they persist in keeping it up.” 

“ Never ! We expect great things from the brainy girl 
of the class, especially since Viva’s genius will be handi- 
capped by the valedictory,” says Dot. 

“ I haven’t a doubt but that Miss Cockerill could be 
drilled to throw a little expression in her Julie, if she 
had any other than my fair self for a De Mauprat,” 
says Viva, picking up her lines. 

“ Poor professor did hate to cast her for the part, but 
Susan Ann demanded it,” says Jen Miller. “It will be 
only an especial act of providence that will keep me 
from laughing outright when I gaze on her red face 
and say, as she enters the first time : 

“ ‘ That’s my ward, my sweet Julie ! Why, upon this face 
Blushes such daybreak as one might swear the morning 
Was come to visit Tithon.’ 

“ It is too amusing to see the fair Lucy at rehearsal. 
She affects not to catch the idea of De Mauprat’s lines 
and forces Professor De Solla to read them to her, and 
she becomes a most attending and passionate Julie. 
The poor fellow turned a purple red this morning, 
when she made him pose her in a thrilling scene. She 
would give anything if Viva would ‘shuffle off this mor- 
tal coil’ before commencement, so that he would have 
to take the part. Your best lines, Viva, are when I 
7 


98 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


tell you that it is surely better to marry than to die, 
and you say, 

“ ‘ Scarcely cardinal, the poorest coward 

Must die, — but knowingly to march to marriage — 

My lord, it asks the courage of a lion.’ 

“ That alone would win you the medal. That little 
devil-may-care swagger with which you go up stage 
is perfect." 

“ I am delighted you think so, for oh, girls, I am 
simply wild for the medal. I took both the parts of 
Marion and Julie three years ago, when I was with 
papa in Florida, at a winter resort, so perhaps that is 
why I feel at ease in the piece." 

One of the teachers knocks at the door with the mail. 

“ A letter for Miss Gaybraith," she says, handing Dot 
a huge missive. 

“From Annapolis, and in Cousin Will’s hand. As 
I heard from that gentleman yesterday, and he rarely 
honors me with an epistle more than once a month, 
this must be for you, I fancy," says Dot, as soon as 
the teacher disappears, and tosses the letter to Viva, 
who tears off the cover and finds a letter from Charlie 
to herself in a second envelope. 

“My darling," he begins, “what a nuisance com- 
mencement week is here without you. When I see the 
other fellows with their sisters and sweethearts, and 
think of you being so far away, I grow desperate. 

“ Now before I forget everything else, as I do when 
I talk or write to you, I must tell you how pleased my 
cousin’s wife is to have you with her. 

“ They were both down for the final. He has been 
prdered abroad and will s^il in about two weeks, X told 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 99 

him we were to be married when I come back — and so 
we are, over again. He said he did not like the idea 
of his wife staying at a hotel alone, during his absence, 
and as she has no relatives, she was thinking of having 
an old schoolmate to be her companion, all of which is, 
of course, done away with now, as she will have the 
honor of chaperoning you. Cousin Jeff was always a 
favorite of my father, and he was married from our 
house — just before I entered the academy. Mrs. 
Guthrie quite won my heart by asking me to be an 
usher. It was the first time I was ever an attendant 
at a wedding. She is a pretty, sweet little thing, and 
quite enslaved me for life by the way she raved over 
your picture, and made me tell her all about you. She 
will go to Richmond, see you receive your diploma, 
and take you with her to Washington, where she will 
spend the next two years. Will you wait as anxiously 
for my coming, my love, as she will for Jeff’s? 

“ To think I might have seen you if it had not been 
for this beastly physical exam! After bimng things in 
great shape on the mental, standing sixth in my class, 
the largest for a number of years, I had to be held over 
for the physical. My eyes have been in a very bad 
condition lately, perhaps from using them too much. 
I do not think the trouble is permanent. However, I 
will know in a few days. 

“ I went to the ball Friday night, to accommodate a 
classmate, whose sister and her friend materialized at 
the last moment, he having an engagement. It was 
an awful bore, though the sister danced particularly 
well, and the friend was a very pretty little trick. An 
old girl, Miss Shon, who I haven’t a doubt was on thQ 


lOO 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


tapis when father was a plebe. , was there. She used 
to call herself Betty, but disguised later as Bettine, 
and now sails under the name of Bettina ; a different 
ending for every half-century, I suppose. She is very 
stout, and like many stout women, especially when they 
have grown old, affects the gay young thing and the 
ing(fnue. Talks with pouted lips, and makes startling 
observations, with the seeming candor of a child. She 
said, after the ball, to a young officer’s wife, who is 
half her age, ‘ Oh, please take me under your wing* 
and stand here with me till my escort comes for me. 
The dressing-room is so crowded, and it is so confusing 
here in the hall, with all the officers and cadets around. 
Do you know that after one of these delightful academy 
dances, I am so tired I feel that if they would just let 
me lie down on the steps of the armory and go to 
sleep. I’d be so happy?’ 

“ But here the fair Shon caught sight of a new offi- 
cer, and forgetting her coyness, dashed through the 
crowd towards him. The last I saw of him, she had 
him safely ragged — if you do not understand navy 
slang, that means cornered. Ah, she was so spent like 
a child with play, and fain would tumble down any- 
where in a dreamless sleep. I felt like telling her she 
could sleep anywhere in the grounds, from the south 
gate to the sea wall, for all any one cared. 

“ At supper I was next to a Miss Postern, a young 
woman who has honored and protected the academy 
with her presence and patronage for a number of 
years, much to the disgust of the cadets. She was 
shattering the reputation of a little creature who has 
been spending the winter here for her health, the 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


lOI 


offence being, I believe, a very mild flirtation with the 
legal prey of Miss Postern, and an opera cloak which 
outshone the lady’s own. Will, who was near attend- 
ing to one of my ferns, listened to her for a time, then 
with that dignity and self-possession which makes him 
so looked up to, crushed her utterly, and finally suc- 
ceeded in making her ashamed of herself. In a few 
minutes the young woman of the opera-cloak fame 
passed; Will rose, went towards her, took three dances 
on her card and made a date for the promenade con- 
cert the next night. A young woman is fortunate who 
has Will Harris to espouse her cause, for he is quite a 
leader; the fellows just swear by him. I haven’t a 
doubt but that if the June gayeties had lasted a week 
longer. Miss Opera-Cloak, I have forgotten her name, 
would have been a belle. The amusing part of it was 
that she did not seem to understand that Miss Postern 
was circulating this gossip about her among, and injur- 
ing her with, the cadets, but her whole time is taken up 
with the effort to restore her health, and her fianc^., 
who is, I hear, a naval officer, and that is why she 
takes such an interest in naval affairs. It is a pity she 
cannot know what Will has done for her. Though, 
after all, it is better that she does not, as it would 
be too bad to disturb her peace of mind, even to witness 
that rare thing — gratitude. I also met a Miss Sellman, 
who said she knew you two years ago in Atlanta. 
Need I say that she commanded my attention for the 
rest of the evening ? 

“Write to me, at once, sweetheart. I’ll be here for 
a few days longer, till my case is decided — then will re- 
ceive orders. Yours, Charlie.’’ 


T02 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


“ Monsieur De Mauprat, if you ever finish that docu- 
ment — looks like it might be a last will and testament — 
I’d like you to go over this scene in the ante-chamber 
with me,” says Miss Miller. 

“Yes, coming,” says Viva, thrusting the letter be- 
tween the pages of her Moral Science. 

“Come, let us escape while there is time,” says Puss, 
rushing out and dragging Dot with her. 


CHAPTER XI. 


It is the night of the famous presentation of Riche- 
lieu. Downstairs, the study hall is filled with the pa- 
trons of the school. The judges for the medal, who 
are the trustees and faculty, are seated away from the 
crowd. Upstairs, Viva’s room is made headquarters, 
and turned into principal dressing-room. 

“Take care there, and don’t ‘tread on the tail av me 
coat,’ ” says Jen Miller, looking taller and more gaunt 
than ever in the long red robes of the cardinal. 

“I tell you, girls,” she continues, “I don’t envy the 
feelings of our primary teacher to-night. Fancy her 
disgust at having anything so unromantic as toothache 
and swollen jaw prevent her taking the part of Julie, 
and at the last moment Van having to be substituted, 
whereupon our own De Solla is obliged to play De Mau- 
prat. He will look the part, and every glance that be- 
trays his devotion to the Julie of his heart will be bit- 
terest gall and wormwood to the fair Lucy, who is 
seated. Puss says, in the rear of the room, with a lace 
scarf draped over her head, concealing the injured side 
of her face. There, am I all right?” stepping back 
and giving her ermine robe a kick. 

“Perfect,” says Gladys, arrayed as Francois. 
“There, that will do, I believe,” says Viva, clasping the 
heirloom necklace of the Carrols, gotten out of the bank 
for the occasion, around her neck, and surveying her- 


104 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

self in the mirror. “But I regret my sword,” with a 
sigh. “ And I live in mortal dread of forgetting I am 
changed to Julie, and entering on De Mauprat’s cue.” 

“You need a little more rouge on your left cheek,” 
says Baradas, gazing at her critically, as he leans on 
the bureau. “ And that arrow in your hair higher, 
so.” 

“The curtain is about to be rung up; don’t keep the 
stage waiting, in the words of the ‘profesh,’” says Puss, 
entering. “Beg your pardon, my lord cardinal, but 
why should your robe have been there ‘in the way of a 
fair woman’s foot’ ? How swagger all of you look!” 

“We must go, girls,” says Gladys, giving her blonde 
curls a last twist as she passes the glass. 

“Yes, we are ready now,” says Marion, laying down 
the make-up pencil, and feeling proudly the splendid 
length of her eyelashes. 

The first and second acts pass off extremely well. 
There are only one or two almost imperceptible flaws. 
Older brothers, who have torn themselves away from 
the club to bring little sis, begin to look disgusted. 
Pray, what is the use of sacrificing one’s self, and giving 
up a whole evening of one’s beloved billiard room gos- 
sip, if one cannot air one’s little witticisms, carefully 
saved up for such occasions for seasons, about amateurs 
in general, and bread-and-butter schoolgirl perform- 
ances in particular? In the beginning of the third act, 
in the scene with Richelieu, Viva rises grandly to the 
climax, and surpasses herself. The older brothers look 
at each other surprisedly, and borrow a glass from some 
one — they never dreamed of deigning to bring their own 
— and wonder what species of the bread-and-butter miss 


iSTAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 105 

is this, who knows what to do with her hands and feet, 
how to manage her train, 'fepeaks with such fire, shows 
such talent, and oh, wonder of wonders, does not seem 
the least bit embarrassed when they look straight at 
her over the narrow little stage. De Mauprat enters 
and holds the feminine part of the audience, at least, 
spellbound. Several young ladies vow inwardly to 
take a course in histrionic art next session. The ap- 
plause is deafening as they finish the scene and disap- 
pear behind the portitres at the back of the stage. 

“Grand, superb, fairest Julie,” says Professor De 
Solla as soon as they are in the wings, grasping her 
hands in his enthusiasm. “ I am proud of my pupil. 
You did yourself full justice. I could pay you no higher 
compliment.” Miss Cockerill looks at Miss Hammer 
with a kind of I-told-you-so expression. Miss Hammer 
compresses her lips till her fat cheeks puff out; gives 
her head a vigorous jerk, till her light tousled curls 
shake themselves nearly into her little green eyes. 

“Well,” she says, “I never saw anything so indecent 
in my life! I might have known she would disgrace 
my school! Such unpardonable immodesty!” 

“ I congratulate you. Miss Hammer, on the marvellous 
talent of your two pupils. Miss Van Velssler and Miss 
Miller,” says an old man leaning towards her. 

With one crushing look the lady freezes the words on 
his lips, and he retires timid and abashed. 

The applause continues, even though Huget and the 
conspirators have entered. Huget has made two efforts 
to say his little speech, but the words have been 
drowned. 

“What shall we do, girls?” says Huget in the person 


io6 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


of Miss Walker. The conspirators giggle and hide their 
rosy, fun-loving faces in their hoods; but at last man- 
age to get through the scene. 

Miss Hammer’s chin grows closer to her throat and 
she bridles with indignation, as the play progresses. 
Ever and anon Miss Cockerill leans toward her and 
whispers something which seems to add fuel to the 
flame. 

In the last act the older brothers forget their posi- 
tions of assumed ennui^ and listen with breathless at- 
tention, — the younger ones have long since surrendered 
completely, — when Julie scorns Baradas, and, rushing to 
her husband, flings herself into his arms with passion- 
ate gladness, determined to suffer death rather than dis- 
honor. As the curtain goes down on the last act and 
the judges retire to the library. Miss Hammer strides 
down the hall and follows them with the air of an 
avenging Nemesis. There is a long delay. The audi- 
ence grows impatient. They turn to their neighbors 
and discuss the play, the actors individually and col- 
lectively, and finally lean back and silently look at the 
closed door. Behind the scenes, all is excitement. 

“ Did I do well ? Do you think any one noticed 
when I was prompted? There is no doubt about Van 
getting the medal, is there? What are they waiting 
for?” are the questions hurled at each other with such 
lightning rapidity that it would be impossible to an- 
swer, even if an answer was expected. 

” I tell you, gentlemen, I will not permit Miss Van 
Velssler to receive the medal. It is unfair. She was 
cast for De Mauprat, and only took the part of Julie 
because Miss Cockerill is ill, and Professor De Solla had 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 107 

to fill a vacancy, and of course, he could not take the 
part of Julie, so he took Miss Van Velssler’s role. I do 
not see why you cannot understand it. I must insist 
that you give the medal to some one else, as I cannot 
permit Miss Van Velssler to receive it,” Miss Hammer 
is saying in the library. 

“ That settles it, then,” says one of the judges, who is 
tired of the argument, and wants to go home, not feel- 
ing much interest in the matter any way. 

“ It is an outrage, and I refuse to stay and witness 
it,” says Professor Wilson, tossing the gray hair back 
from his usually placid brow and leaving the room. 
The judges enter the room and are most heartily ap- 
plauded by the long-suffering audience; the curtain is 
rung up, revealing the cast in line; the judges go up 
on the stage from the front; the medal is presented 
with as few words as possible to Richelieu, who is too 
astonished even to bow his thanks and appreciation. 
The rest of the cast are struck dumb. The audience is 
too tired and sleepy to exclaim over the decision, and 
hurriedly departs. 

It is the afteriwon after the play, and study hour. 
The senior class are in the library. All day between 
classes, examinations, and at recreation hour, they have 
discussed the decision of the medal. Jen Miller, hon- 
est little soul, declared at first she would not keep it. 
She said that she accepted it on the stage because she 
was too surprised to do anything else. Somehow it 
leaked out among the girls that the judges had decided 
in favor of Viva and that Miss Hammer had interfered. 
But the class tell Jen it is rightfully hers, and it would 


io8 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

be folly to try to remedy the matter. They feel worse 
about it because they think Viva will be compelled to 
teach, and in that way the medal would be invaluable 
to her. 

This morning, after the elocution class was dismissed. 
Professor De Solla asked Viva to remain a few min- 
utes. \ 

“ I cannot tell you how indignant I am about the de- 
cision,” he began. 

“Please say no more about ^it,” she answered. “I 
had set my whole heart upon it, but I assure you I am 
quite reconciled to it now, though, of course, it was a 
shock, especially before them all. I hope I did not 
show it in my face, but brought my Delsarte facial ex- 
ercises into use. That comes of your assuring me of 
getting the medal, and I was conceited enough to be- 
lieve you.” 

“That is not the question,” he said impatiently. 
“The judges decided in your favor, but were not al- 
lowed to give it to you, as you very well know. It 
will not affect your standing in elocution, however. I 
believe — er — I am told you desire to get a. position 
as a teacher, and the fact of not getting the medal may 
do you an injury. I have decided to offer a medal to 
my pupils for the highest class standing,” nervously 
placing and replacing the books on his desk. “ Miss 
Van Velssler,” going round and standing very close to 
her, “ I have tried so hard not to tell you, but it is no use. 
I cannot conquer myself. I love you,” he said desper- 
ately. “ I pictured to myself the horror of seeing 
you suffer the degradation of poverty for my sake, and 
the torments I would endure, knowing how powerless 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 109 

I would be to better things; but they are all out- 
weighed by the delight of having you by my side, and 
the right to shield you from the envy, slights and in- 
sults your youth and beauty will bring upon you. It 
will not be so hard, little one. My last picture has re- 
ceived marked notice, and now that my health is re- 
stored I can take up my work in the studio again, and 
I will work so hard to win fame for your sake. I do 
not ask you to come to me now; only wait a little 
while and tell me that it is not impossible for you to 
love me.” 

She had sat down by his desk and leaned her arms on 
the books he had piled up, and her head on her arms. 
She raised her head as he finished, and by the pained 
look that crept across his face, she saw that he had read 
her answer in her eyes. 

“I am very sorry,” she began slowly, “but it is im- 
possible; I could never care for you.” She vaguely 
felt she was very unkind, that she ought to say some- 
thing to soften the blow, but she could only gaze 
dumbly at him. To him she could have no fault. He 
asked her simply if she could learn to care for him, and 
she told him in as few words as possible. He did not 
a.sk her to reconsider, or to wait before she finally re- 
fused him, but accepted her decision humbly, and 
crushed out any faint spark of hope he may have 
cheated himself into possessing. 

“ You will do me the favor of letting me offer this 
medal to my class. I can do so little for you, please do 
not deny me this pleasure,” he said. 

“ If you offer a medal to your elocution class and I 
win it, I will be glad to accept it and will prize it as a 


no 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


delicate and generous assurance of interest from one I 
hold in very high esteem,” she said, rising and giving 
him her hand. 

His handsome Saxon face was very pale as he took 
her hand for a moment, then dropping it hurriedly, 
turned to the window. 

“One moment. Miss Van Velssler,” he said, as she 
was crossing the floor. “ I detained you to give you 
your essay. There are one or two corrections to be 
made before it is handed to the principal.” 

She knew that he was aware that at the end of the 
corridor the class just dismissed was waiting to de- 
vour her with questions as to why he had detained her, 
and what he had said about the elocutionary contest. 
That, in his grief, he could think to shield her from so 
slight an annoyance, deeply moved her. She came 
back and took the paper from him. 

“You are very much more considerate of me than I 
deserve,” standing beside him and looking into his pale 
face. “ I am very sorry that I have caused you any 
pain, and I hope you will soon forget me, or, at least, 
only remember me as a pupil who will always strive to 
do you credit.” 

He did not answer her, it was so useless to promise 
to forget her, he thought, and she turned sadly away, 
and closed the door of his lonely, dilapidated little 
schoolroom upon him. 

There is not much study going on in the library this 
afternoon. There is a current of excitement running 
through the whole class; a restlessness pervades the 
room. Thirteen pairs of eyes are dutifully bent over 
books, only to be raised again, and some new point of 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


Ill 


the, play of last evening discussed. Puss has been sit- 
ting in the corner, with her fingers in her pretty ears, to 
keep out the noise. Finally she closes her book and 
says: 

“ It’s no use, girls, there is no study in me to-day. 
My last examination paper will be a blank. I simply 
cannot put my mind on it.” 

“Well, there is only one more, thank heaven,” says 
Jen Miller. “After next Tuesday we will no longer be 
the bondservants of old Hammer, but can snap our 
fingers in her face and be free.” 

Little Dot is stretched out at full length on the floor, 
with her elbows resting on her book, and her chin in 
her palms. 

“Yes,” she says, “it’s no use trying to study. Let 
us put it off till after supper. I’ll promise to raid the 
pantry for candles.” Flinging her book at Viva she 
adds, “Brace up. Van; don’t let our last memory of you 
be of a young woman whose countenance is worthy of 
that much-put-upon feminine, Mariana of the Moated 
Grange.” 

Viva is sitting by the window, looking out into the 
dusty little street. She has been thinking that after all 
it is sad to know that this is the last study hour they 
will be together; that in a few days they will part, 
possibly never to meet, and even if they should, 
their interests will never be the same again. The years 
will bring changes, other duties, and these ties, when 
severed Tuesday evening, will be broken for always. 
She knows it so well, and looks at them wondering that 
they do not see it, but they are only jubilant at the 
idea of freedom, and vow eternal friendship. At Dot’s 


I I 2 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


word, she makes an effort to be gay. They must not 
think she is sulking over the medal. 

“All right, we’ll put off cramming,’’ and taking up a 
banjo she sings, accompanied by Jen, who has a full 
alto: 

“ We all come to Hammer to learn to parley ; 

It’s Fran9ais, you know — quite Fran9ais, you know. 

They make us go out sixty minutes a day ; 

That’s English, quite English, you know. 

They say we fair Southrons need more exercise ; 

That’s English, you know — quite English, you know. 

We say we’ve been out, but sometimes we tell — oh. 

That’s naughty, quite naughty, you know. 

They make us get up in the middle of the night ; 

That’s Hammer, you know — quite Hammer, you know. 

We button our boots by the dim candle light ; 

That’s Hammer, quite Hammer, you know.” 

Here the song stops, but Viva still keeps up the ring- 
ing catchy accompaniment. Puss startles them with : 

“ The fair Lucy is struck on Professor De Solla ; 

He’s lovely, you know — quite lovely, you know. 

Wherever he goes she is sure to follow ; 

For she’s spoony, quite spoony, you know. 

On our own little Van she is awfully down; 

Lucy’s jealous, you know — quite jealous, you know. 

When he smiles on Van she is sure to frown ; 

Then she’s wrathy, quite wrathy, you know.” 

The burst of laughter which follows this flow of 
genius is frozen on their lips. Thirteen pairs of eyes 
are fixed in horror upon the door, wherein Miss Ham- 
mer stands framed, a picture of outraged dignity. 

“You are responsible, as usual. Miss Van Velssler, 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 113 

for this levity and low concert song, which is an insult 
to decency in the original, and much more so in this heavy 
attempt at parody. You will come to my study at once. 
Young ladies, I am pained to say I will have to ap- 
point a teacher to preside over the senior study hour,” 
she says with suppressed wrath, and marches down the 
corridor, digging her high heels into the waxed floor in 
a manner that foretells battle prolonged and no 
quarter. 

The girls are too surprised to speak till she is gone. 
Viva follows her without a word. They pass Miss 
Cockerill in the hall, and there is a look of triumph 
about her, coupled with an evidence of some secret 
strength as yet unrevealed, that is different from the 
glow of her usual little victories. Viva is seized with a 
sudden dread. She forces herself to throw it off. 

“Fudge,” she thinks, “has it come to this, that the 
Cockerill can frighten me? Yet there does seem to be 
more dignity about her lately. I involuntarily treat 
her with more respect.” 

Miss Hammer seats herself at her desk, her fat 
cheeks puffed out, and begins with bursting indigna- 
tion : • 

“ I heard, Miss Van Velssler, that you are about to 
commit the unpardonable disobedience of accepting a 
medal from Professor De Solla, after the decision of 
last evening. I want you fully to understand I will not 
permit it. Do you hear? I will not permit it. It is 
an insult to the trustees of this school, in their just 
award of the medal to Miss Miller. It is a public re- 
proof to them and to me, and I consider it an imperti- 
nence on the part of Professor De Solla, and I have 
8 


1 14 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

already notified him that I will dispense with his ser- 
vices next year.” She pauses for breath. 

“ Thank heaven, he had already made up his mind to 
dispense with yours,” thinks Viva. 

“ I want you to sign and send him this note at once,” 
handing Viva a note refusing the medal in the most in- 
sulting terms. Every word would be a blow to his sen- 
sitive nature. She has hurt him enqugh — unwittingly, it 
is true, but nevertheless fatally. She thinks of his 
honest kindly eyes as he offered her his little all of this 
world’s goods, and tears rise to her own. 

“ I am very sorry to disappoint you. Miss Hammer, 
but Professor De Solla says the class medal has nothing 
to do with the contest, and my word is pledged to ac- 
cept it, if my examination papers, which will be ap- 
proved by the faculty, show I fairly deserve it.” 

Words fail the lady principal. To be treated in this 
cavalier manner exasperates her beyond measure. She 
finally masters breath to gasp: . 

“ If you do not do as I command you, I refuse to per- 
mit you to be graduated. I think you will consider 
well before you wantonly throw aside a diploma of Ham- 
mer College.” 

Viva grows white to the lips. What will Charlie say ? 
What will Mrs. Guthrie, his relative, who is coming to 
see her receive her diploma, think? She remembers 
once Will and Charlie were discussing an affair attract- 
ing a great deal of notice in naval circles, of an English 
officer failing to keep a promise, and so saving himself 
from a great physical danger, but imperilling the life of 
one of his men. 

I cannot pardon any one for not keeping a promise. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 115 

when actually given, no matter about how trivial a 
thing,” said Will. “A man who does not keep faith 
in little things cannot be trusted in great ones. It 
shows a dishonesty, a nature that is too shrewd, per. 
haps, to come to grief by any open disobedience to the 
law, but dishonesty all the same.” 

“ What would you have done in this case ?” she had 
asked. 

“I’d have gone, and if I had died, I’d have died 
game.” 

Standing in the dingy little study, with the last rays 
of the sun falling upon the pile of papers, bills, and 
white ribbons to be used on the diplomas Tuesday 
night, which litter Miss Hammer’s desk, she decides to 
follow the advice of the cadet. She has always ad- 
mired him greatly, and has said if she had a brother she 
would want him to be just like Will Harris. “I’ll do 
what Will would have done, die game, and keep my 
promise,” she thinks. Aloud she says, firmly, “I am 
very sorry to lose the diploma I have worked for all 
these years, but I am fully decided.” 

“You are excited now,” says Miss Hammer, with 
exasperating pity. “ I am too generous to take you at 
your word. You will reconsider the matter and beg 
my pardon on your knees, I’m sure. You will remain 
in your room and not hold any communication with 
the young ladies, for fear of inciting them to further 
disobedience. Retire now,” with a wave of her hand 
that is worthy a Sultana. 

In the library the seniors are in disgrace, a chaper- 
on is placed over them to enforce study. The teacher 
can compel silence ; but, alas, it is beyond human power 


1 1 6 NAVAL CADE T CARL YLE 'S GLO VE. 

to force those twelve active minds to be applied to phil- 
osophy till they know the fate of their favorite. 
Twelve girlish figures assume an expectant attitude, 
twelve pairs of bright eyes turn toward the door when 
there is a step heard in the corridor, and as the noise 
dies away in the distance and she comes not, a note or 
two is written and dexterously passed between the 
leaves of books. In vain does poor little Miss Barker 
call upon them to study. At last they are dismissed, 
and go straight to Viva’s room. A teacher stands in 
the corridor. 

“Young ladies,” she says, “Miss Hammer has bid- 
den me say that any one who breaks the rule and holds 
any communication with Miss Van Velssler, will have 
her deportment taken down to such a degree that her 
general standing will be so injured as to make it im- 
possible to receive distinction in any class.” 

They stop appalled. It is worse than they, even in 
their most despairing moments, dreamed. They man- 
age to exist till the bell for “ lights out” has rung; then, 
though the teacher at the end of the corridor is on the 
alert for a rebellion, a door next to the teacher’s is 
slowly opened ; a dark-robed figure emerges, listens at 
the teacher’s door a moment, and gives a low whistle 
that sounds exactly like the wind. 

“My practice in ‘The Wind Storm’ tells in an affair 
like this,” murmurs Jen Miller, referring to a piece that 
has been the hHe noir of the elocution class for the last 
quarter. 

At the sound every door on the corridor is carefully 
opened, and the graduating class stand revealed as the 
conspirators. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 117 

“ Coast is clear. Be ready to shelter yourselves at 
my wind signal, which will notify you on the first 
movement of the Barker,” whispers Jen. 

“All right, captain,” and two figures robed in water- 
proofs for disguises steal silently down the hall and 
into a classroom which, with Viva’s, forms a right angle. 
A note can be passed easily from the classroom win- 
dow to hers. 

Jen stands at the head of the corridor in listening at- 
titude, and the rest of the class crouch down by their 
open doors and anxiously await the results. Some 
chalk, broken in small pieces, is thrown against Viva’s 
blinds, which, after a moment, are noiselessly opened. 

“ I was afraid you would come, girls, so sat up for 
you. Go back at once or you will get into serious 
trouble. The Hammer is terribly on the war path, and 
for the slightest provocation might refuse to let the 
rest of you be graduated too.” 

“ Do you mean that she is not going to let you have 
your diploma?” almost screams Dot. 

Fortunately the second girl, Katherine Lenford, puts 
her hand over Dot’s mouth. 

“Shut up! Do you want to alarm the house?” she 
says. 

“Didn’t you know it?” says Viva. “Then I am 
sorry I told you. But unless I sign a paper she has pre- 
pared, and which does not concern you, I will not be of 
the festive party Tuesday night. It is only a little 
matter of principle, and I refuse. We have always dis- 
puted which was the thirteenth. Jen says she is because 
she came last, and Katherine because she is tallest. Now 
it is decided. Receive your diplomas in peace; mine is 


Ii8 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

the proud honor. Behold the thirteenth.” She throws up 
her arm in mock tragedy, and unconsciously makes a 
weird, beautiful picture as she stands in the moonlight, 
her long hair falling over her dark dressing gown. 

“ Well,” says little Dot, kneeling down by the window, 
“ it is the meanest thing I ever heard of. But, if you 
care to listen to the words of a prophet, there will de no 
graduating class of Hammer College in this year of our 
Lord — ” 

A shrill wind seems to blow about the old building; in 
fact, the very windows seem to shake. Viva springs 
into bed and draws the covers up over her. The glare 
of a lamp is in the room, and Miss Barker stands at 
the door. 

“I thought I heard voices in here,” she says. 

“ None of the girls have been in my room since I 
came up this afternoon,” says Viva, with the ease of a 
diplomat. 

“ I am very glad of it. Good night. Miss Van Vels- 
sler. I hope you will apologize to Miss Hammer, and all 
will go smooth and even again,” pausing in the door. 

“Thank you, but I will not apologize,” says Viva. 
As the door closes, “ Whew, that was a close call! If 
she had asked me to get up for anything and discov- 
ered I had on my boots, we would have been done for.” 

The next morning there is a council of war in the 
graduates’ room, and “ Rebellion, foul, dishonoring 
word,” is declared class motto. They refuse to receive 
their diplomas, and orders for commencement frocks are 
countermanded. However, a few positive telegrams 
from parents and guardians, who fail to be impressed 
with the heroism in the matter, put an end to the little 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 119 

scheme, and twelve young women sulkily permit a lov- 
ing alma mater to claim them for her own. 

Tuesday night, the favorite of the class and the vale- 
dictorian is conspicuous by her absence. Wednesday 
morning dawns, and they part, and Hammer College 
knows them no more. 


CHAPTER XII. 


An April morning in Washington — could anything be 
more beautiful? The parks and squares are a thing of 
beaut)^ — surely floral art has reached its perfection. 
The gay set are crowding as much enjoyment as possi- 
ble into the short week of the post-Lenten season. On 
K street, not very far from Fifteenth, is a delightful 
little hotel, very quiet, but very charming. One of 
the most attractive rooms in the house is on the second 
floor — bright and airy, with furniture of light oak, 
pretty muslin curtains, and dainty hric-a-brac^ sugges- 
tive of foreign travel. Its occupant, late as it is, is 
just opening her eyes to this world. Some one knocks 
on the door opening into the next room. 

“ Get up, lazy one. Are you doing a wager to beat 
the seven sleepers ? Remember we go to the art gal- 
lery with Colonel and Mrs. Blair at ten. Open the 
door.” 

“I won’t get up; it’s only dawn,” and the mistress of 
the apartment sinks back upon her soft pillows. 

“I have some mail for you,” insinuatingly. 

“Come in then; the door is unbolted.” 

“Ah, I fancied that would fetch you, lady fair! 
Here are two very huge documents addressed to Miss 
Van Velssler,” says Mrs. Guthrie, seating herself by 
the window, after throwing up the blinds and letting in 
a flood of sunshine. “ Do you realize that two weeks 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 121 

from to-day the Atlanta is due at New York ? And are 
you also aware of the fact that you are to select your 
wedding gown this afternoon? If you do not do credit 
to me on that momentous occasion, I’ll fail to remem- 
ber you in my will, for I know Jeff Guthrie will blame 
me. Another fact that I have hidden away in that 
great storehouse, my brain, is that when Charlie is at 
Annapolis and coming down here between exams., and 
with you going there for hops and such rubbish. I’ll 
never get my hands on you to make you have a single 
gown fitted. Out with you now! I just give you time 
to read those letters, while I begin one to Jeff. Then if 
you are not half ready. I’ll — ” the look is awe-striking 
enough to dispense with words. 

Viva opens the first letter. From Charlie it is. 

“When this reaches you, queen of my heart,” he 
writes, “ it will be almost the second anniversary of our 
wedding. Can it only be two years? It seems like 
ages. As the days pass and I can count the time by 
weeks when I will see you, I grow more impatient. 
Dear old Will bears nobly with my restlessness and 
wild desire to turn time forward. My one regret is, I 
will be separated from him, for there is no such luck as 
our being detailed to the same duties. I have not the 
slightest fear of my final exam. My eyes are in fine 
shape. I have grown positively old womanish about 
taking care of them — all for your sake, my darling” — 
and so on in this strain he continues. 

The two years’ cruise has not changed him. He is 
the same headstrong madcap and class favorite. How 
passionately fond he is of her! Well, her lines have 
fallen in pleasant places. In a few weeks she will be- 


122 


NAVAL CADET CAELVLE'S CLOVE. 


come (to the world) the wife of one of the most charm- 
ing naval officers in the service. He is young, bright, 
handsome, and adores her — what more could she want ? 
she asks herself. Nothing, she hastens to assure her- 
self. She leans back among her pillows and gazes 
dreamily out at the clear sky. Yet she regrets the last 
two years; she would turn back now and live them over 
again. They have been so sweet, so free from care. 
At first the Hammer College girls wrote three times a 
week, then their letters came less frequently, with 
fewer “ yous,” and more “ I” in them. Now they have 
stopped altogether, except from Puss, Jen, and the more 
faithful ones, who write occasionally. The rest only 
write when they want the address of some one, a piece 
of silk matched, or something done. Miss Carrol wrote 
once or twice from Australia, but her niece was doing 
very well without her, she thought, and lately Viva has 
waited in vain for an answer to her last letter. 

“Viva is very beautiful,” Mrs. Guthrie is writing to 
Jeff. “ She has had a very lovely time here, and might 
have been a great belle, but she seems to avoid the 
company of young men so strangely, and has a very ex- 
aggerated idea of her duty to Charlie. We have been 
into society somewhat, and I have entertained, in a small 
way, occasionally. An attach^ oi the Austrian Lega- 
tion went quite wild over Viva, and a young army offi- 
cer who assisted to make the presentations at the White 
House was very attentive, but she hardly noticed 
either— for all they say about the giddiness of the 
sweethearts and wives of naval officers who are at sea. 
We have arranged a few pretty, inexpensive dresses, and 
the wedding will take place at Annapolis, after the final 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 123 

ball. You are to get my present in New York, a hand- 
some silver comb, brush and mirror, and can add your 
own, in way of tray, powder-box, and any of the thou- 
sand and one trinkets that go to litter the toilet table of 
a pretty woman.” 

After a few moments she finishes the letter, and look- 
ing up, sees Viva still dreaming. 

“ Yes, I am coming,” says that culprit, “ only listen to 
this first: 

“ ‘My Dear Viva: — Come to us at once. You used 
to be called the class detective, because we went to you 
with our difficulties, which you always cleverly untan- 
gled, and your services cannot yet be dispensed with 
now. Dev has gotten into trouble. He has become 
entangled with a dreadful girl. We tried to make the 
best of it, and had her to come here, but there is no 
best to it — if you could see her! She is not the wife 
for Dev at all, and is constantly embarrassing us before 
people. We try to persuade him to break it off, but he 
talks a lot of nonsense about duty and honor. He is 
just doing it to be contrary, I know. Oh, Viva, do 
come. Dear old Riverside is looking lovely now, and 
reminds me of two years ago when we were here for 
Easter. Enclose a railroad pass for you that I bothered 
Uncle Fred into giving me. I don’t know why, but I 
am impressed with the idea that, if you will only come, 
all will be well, as it used to be in the old days at 
Hammer, when we were all so gay, light-hearted, and so 
fond of each other. Wire what day to expect you. 

“ ‘Yours truly, 

“ ‘Dorothea Gaybraith. ’ ” 

“ Well, that goes a little further than when Fannie 
asked you to run over to Baltimore, make a morning 
call upon her lover at his office, and find out why he 


124 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


had not written, or when Gladys asked you to work 
your way into the confidence of Jen and discover if she 
was engaged to James Warren,” says Mrs. Guthrie in 
disgust. “ Does she expect you to throw the young 
woman over the bluff; find, a la sensational novel, a 
letter written by her to the man she really loves, saying 
that as soon as Dev makes his will in her favor, she will 
murder him and marry said love, or what?” 

But the reference, at the end of the letter, to the old 
days when they were so fond of her, has touched Viva. 
She thinks lovingly of the many pleasant holidays spent 
at Riverside, and has a desire to see it again. 

“I think I’ll go for a few days, Marie. Of course, 
I would not be so wildly extravagant if I did not have 
the pass. I will return the night before our famous 
dinner and reunion at Harvey’s. I could not think of 
letting you be such a belle as to have Jeff, Charlie and 
Will all to yourself at one time.”. 

“ Well, so you have those precious gowns fitted before 
you go I do not care. Now fly! I give you thirty 
minutes to consume your toast and coffee, which I fear 
is getting cold, and to be ready,” and she gathers up 
her papers and departs. 

Several days later Viva arrives at the station nearest 
Riverside. The smile dies away on her lips as she steps 
out on the deserted little platform. 

“ Is the carriage from Riverside here ?” she asks the 
old express agent. 

“Waal, no, I can’t say as it is.” 

“ That is strange. Can you get me a cab or any- 
thing to take me there?” 

“ I guess not. The village is a good bit off. But if 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 125 

yer don’t mind waitin’ till I git my express ’tended to, I 
ken take yer in my wagon — it won’t be very fur out of 
my way — that is, if yer don’t mind ridin’ in sich a rig.” 

“ Thank you very much. I will be very glad to have 
you take me. There must be some mistake. I tele- 
graphed Miss Gaybraith that I would come by this 
train, but I suppose she did not receive the message.” 

The old man takes twice as long as usual about his 
duties, for he insists upon keeping up an animated con- 
versation, on his part at least, with Viva. But at last 
they are off. She wins his heart entirely by her seeming 
interest in “craps,” and why Farmer Hodge “don’t 
seem to have no luck with his corn.” 

Hopkins opens the door for her at Riverside. 

“ The ladies have gone to a charity fair at the Oaks,” 
he says. “ Mr. Gaybraith is in the library. Will Miss 
Van Velssler have tea there or go to her room at once ?” 

Miss Van Velssler decides to have tea in the library. 
She finds Dev in the depths of a huge armchair, with 
a startling pile of newspapers on one side of him, and a 
tea table on the other. 

“ How do you do ?” he manages to say, as soon as 
his first surprise is over, making a path through his 
papers and going toward her. “ How did you happen 
to come by this train ? And what a set of heathens you 
must think us.” 

“ I wired Dot I’d be here to-day, and she knows that 
I know the inconveniences of the late train, so I do 
not see how she could have expected me at any other 
time than this.” 

“ Oh, I thought you stated clearly that you would 
come on the later train,” looking at her curiously. 


126 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 


“What a confounded shame,” he thinks. “Because 
Dot wanted to see Cravens at this fair, she took the 
only horses that could be used to-day, and left her to 
get here the best way she could.” Aloud he says, 
“ Perhaps you are not aware of the fact, but there is no 
longer a Dot in this establishment. It is Miss Dorothea 
Gaybraith who brightens the home of her ancestors. 
Will you remove your coat and gloves and permit me 
to serve you with tea ?” 

Viva leans back in a comfortable chair which he has 
placed for her, and sips the hot fragrant tea. She ob- 
serves, after the first animation, produced on meeting 
her, has died out of his face, how old he looks. There 
are lines about his eyes and mouth which show the most 
reckless dissipation. It is pitiable in one so young. 
There is a languor, a lassitude about every movement, 
and every now and then he unconsciously sighs. He 
makes an effort to amuse her, tells her bits of gossip 
about the people of the surrounding country, and asks 
after people he knows she is corresponding with, but 
she can see he is scarcely interested. 

“ It is time they were returning,” he says, glancing at 
the clock. “ Ah, I thought I heard wheels on the drive 
a moment ago,” as the clatter of high heels is heard on 
the hardwood floor of the hall. 

The door is thrown open and Miss Gaybraith enters, 
followed by a tall, heavy young woman, with vivid 
color, sharp, flashing eyes, high forehead, over which 
falls a massive fringe. She is what a slangy clubman 
said of her — blousey looking. 

“The fiancee^"' thinks Viva, as she goes toward Dot. 
“How do you do, little one? And what do you mean 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 127 

by not meeting me ? I owe my arrival to the kindness 
of old Peters.” 

“So sorry, dear, but as you did not say, I thought 
you might come by the other train, and we had prom- 
ised to go to the fair, and — oh, I never could make 
explanations,” says Dot, flinging herself into a chair 
and restlessly taking off her gloves. 

“Humph, Cravens elusive again,” thinks Dev. 

Viva looks at her in surprise. Can only two seasons 
have brought this change in her ? She was always deli- 
cate, but now she looks almost an invalid. Those dark 
circles around her eyes, and the brilliant glitter that is 
in them, add ten years to her age. Her restless little 
body is never still a moment. Her voice is higher and 
sharper. She seems aware that Viva is noticing the 
change in her, and resents it. 

“Permit me, Miss Van Velssler,” says Dev, who has 
watched the meeting with a look that is half bored, half 
amused ; “ my sister in the delight of seeing you has 
forgotten to introduce you to Miss Higgins,” turning 
to where the huge young woman is standing, half 
embarrassed, wholly defiant. 

Viva smiles at her very sweetly, but Miss Higgins 
is not pleased with the cosy tete-a-tete in which she found 
her liege lord and Viva, and openly shows it. 

At the dinner table, an hour later, they depend upon 
Dev and Viva to keep up the conversation. Mrs. Gay- 
braith does not appear, having gone to her room with a 
headache. Dot makes no attempt to be amusing, and 
Miss Higgins is still disposed to frown upon the world 
in general. She feels that she is expected to appear 
at her best before this new guest, and is painfully aware 


128 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


that she is far from living up to their expectations of 
her, and is consequently embarrassed, but, as she is 
fully determined not to look so, the effect is aggressive, 
to say the least. She mixes her wine glasses; makes 
wrong use of her fish fork, and at the end of the meat 
course, leaves her knife and fork in such a position as to 
signify she has not finished the course. In despair the 
butler hands her everything his fertile brain can suggest, 
and Dev has to signal him to remove the plate before 
the dinner can progress. It all goes, as she becomes 
vaguely aware of her mistakes, to make her hate Viva 
with an undying hatred. Dev leaves the dining-room 
with them. The following hour in the drawing-room 
passes off better. Viva takes possession of the piano, 
and Dev calls for one piece after the other, to prevent 
conversation. At last Dot says: 

“ You must be tired. Viva. Go up to your room, and 
I’ll don my dressing gown and join you as soon as 
possible.” 

Viva rises, says good-night to Dev and Miss Higgins, 
and is amused that the latter seems to settle herself for 
a long Ute-a-tHe and condescends to smile for the first 
time. 

“ What can he mean by it ?” Viva thinks, as she lays 
out a morning gown, and prepares to receive Dot. 
“ He certainly does not care for her. It is odd — very.” 

“ Ugh, it is so cold !” says Dot, as she enters. “ Why 
don’t you light your fire? It is all ready. Mamma will 
turn off the furnace heat at this time of the year.” 

“ I do not feel cold — in fact, it has been quite warm 
all day — but, if you wish. I’ll put a match to the fire.” 

Dot draws a stool close to the fireplace, and stretches 


129 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

out her tiny little hands to the blaze. She looks more 
like the Dot of the Hammer College days. Her loose 
robe hides the thinness of her little figure, and as she 
brushes out her soft brown hair, and it falls about her 
shoulders, it seems to take years off her age. 

“ Now, let’s talk,” she says. 

They look at each other in silence. It is usually 
impossible to make conversation after such a speech. 
They each wait for the other to begin, then they both 
laugh. Viva leans over and kisses her. It seems the 
first time she has seen her old friend. That fashion- 
able, bored young woman who met her was masquerad- 
ing in Dot’s shape. 

9 


CHAPTER XIII. 


“It is awfully good to have you here again, Viva.” 
(She notices the familiar Van is no longer used.) “Is 
it only two years since you were here ? And to think 
even then we had not left school! Heavens, it seems 
centuries to me! I have been dragged about so. The 
first season we were in town, of course; strange that 
you have never visited me at my Louisville home. The 
last part of the winter we were in lower California. 
The next year we were in Florida, and oh, the two 
summers seem ages in themselves. I wrote you from 
Prospect House this summer, did I not? No? Well, 
I intended to — I am always intending to write to you. 
Viva, but somehow I have grown careless about writ- 
ing to every one. At Prospect House we met Mr. 
Cravens, Leonard Cravens — he owns a place near here, 
and though we have been neighbors for years, we never 
met but once or twice. Well, it is hardly to be won- 
dered at, as mamma is only here for a short time in the 
spring and fall, and he has been abroad at college, 
and only came home last June. His father was an 
Englishman, and, in fact, it is due to them that we are 
so awfully English, you know, in these parts. Of course, 
if a marriage could be arranged between us, it would 
be desirable in every way, as it would join the estates, 
you see.” 

Viva leans over and stirs the fir^ to conceal a smile. 

130 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 13 1 

The idea of a marriage being “ arranged" between the 
fifi-de-sihle American girl and her sweetheart is amusing 
enough, but the word “ estate" applied to two fine blue- 
grass farms is comical in the extreme. 

“He is perfectly lovely," continues Dot. “ So big, 
strong and splendid looking. He has the loveliest soft 
brown eyes, and his hair is just a trifle wavy, and oh, 
such color! We rarely see it in our own countrymen, 
and then only when they are from the extreme North. 
He seems to like me better than most of the girls, prin- 
cipally because mamma has been so nice to him, and 
introduced him to so many nice people, I suppose,” 
never considering it absurd to think that he whose 
father helped to build up the county, and whose great 
wealth was partly accumulated here, owes his social 
position to the recognition of Mrs. Gaybraith. “ I am 
very fond of him," she adds, a softening light breaking 
over her face, and turning with the old appealing ges- 
ture that vividly recalls Hammer College. 

But she never once stops talking about herself long 
enough to ask about Viva’s affairs; and Viva, never 
having been accustomed to confide in any one, feels it 
impossible now to speak of the quiet pretty wedding 
that is to take place at the little church on the circle 
at Annapolis. 

“ There, if I stay up any longer. I’ll look a fright for 
the meeting of the tennis club to-morrow. I told you 
they meet here, did I not ? I never get up for break- 
fast, but have some coffee and fruit sent to my room. 
I advise you to do the same, as the day is horribly long 
anyway. Mamma rarely goes to breakfast, but Dev 
and Sarah show up, I believe. Could anything be 


132 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S CLOVE. 


worse than her appearance, except her name — Sarah 
Higgins ! Not even softened into Sallie, though goodness 
knows that is bad enough. I meant to ask you about 
it. What would you suggest? Mamma cannot dis- 
inherit him, for he has his money in his own right.” 

“ I do not see that you can do anything. I fancy 
that you have ruined your plans by opposing him. I 
am sorry myself — I would never have guessed her to be 
the woman Dev would have selected for his wife. How- 
ever, if she really cares for him, she will study to please 
him and make you all proud of her yet.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense. Viva. She cares no more for 
him than you do. Her mother took a few college men 
to board with her, and they found out Dev had money 
and is a fool, and set out to capture him. The worst 
of it is, they succeeded.” 

“ Well, do not fret over it, it may come right. Only 
do not worry him by embarrassing her, and so causing 
her to do the wrong thing.” 

“Good-night,” says Dot with a sigh. “Martha — you 
remember her, I suppose — will wait on you, and if you 
are insane enough to get up for breakfast, I hope you 
can amuse yourself with some new music you will find 
on the piano, and possibly you may find something to 
read, but Dev usually keeps the place deluged with 
nothing but questionable French novels,” and she 
draws her dressing gown about her shivering little figure 
and fast disappears down the hall. 

Viva sits in front of the fire, while a peculiar, hard 
smile plays about her mouth at times. The red blaze 
throws becoming lights on her sun-kissed hair and fair 
skin. Finally, as the little clock on the mantel strikes 


naval cadet CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 133 

again, she gets up and shakes out her heavy coil of 
hair. 

“A cheerful prospect for a whole week, certainly,” 
she thinks. “Mrs. Gaybraith absents herself entirely; 
Dot changed, cross and ill, and I am to be left to the 
tender mercies of an engaged pair, the while being 
expected, by some mysterious and occult power, to 
bring Dev to his senses, and show him he is ruining the 
country by his mad, absurd persistency in marrying the 
woman of his choice. Poor Dev! I cannot help feeling 
sorry for him. If he does marry her, he will be miser- 
able for life. He is too fastidious, too fond of what 
auntie would call good form, to be happy with a woman 
who will constantly keep him on the qiii vive to cover her 
mistakes. And she, even if she honestly loves him, will 
grow irritable and miserable when she finds she contin- 
ually mortifies him. Unequal marriages are a ghastly 
thing. However, it is none of my business if he chooses 
to marry his laundress^' as she tries to smother the too 
hot fire and turns out the light. 

It is the afternoon of the tennis meeting. Viva is 
playing singles, with Dev in the opposite court. One 
can see that she is not putting forth her best efforts. 
She lightly springs toward the balls, and returns them 
with an easy swing of her racquet, placing them an inch 
from the 'back line when he is at the net, and just over 
when he is in the back court. She is wearing a gown 
of plain white serge, a tiny cap to match, and even 
those atrocities, white tennis shoes, fail to spoil her 
appearance, and her well-shaped feet look exceedingly 
well in them. Her hair is a little blown by the wind, 
and escapes from the confining cap; her cheeks are 


134 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


heated from the exercise and her eyes sparkle with 
victory. 

“You must play up, or I’ll beat you. Forty love,” 
she says, as she picks up the balls with her racquet, 
swings them over her head and catches them as they 
come down. “ Ready,” and the ball falls in the receiv- 
ing court. 

Dev is stung into playing his best, and for once is 
roused into something like activity. He returns the 
ball over her head, and it falls behind her; she just 
reaches it by a mighty effort. For a few minutes they 
keep the ball in the air; the others gather around to 
watch. Viva is surprised and has to play her best. 
Finally she catches the ball at the net and smashes it. 
It bounces twice before he can reach it. 

“Game and set,” she says, throwing down her 
racquet, amid the applause of the spectators. “Your 
alma mater would disown you if she saw that,” and she 
goes toward the deserted part of the balcony, where she 
can see the courts at better advantage. 

At the opposite end of the balcony they are serving 
refreshments. After a few moments she sees Dev com- 
ing across the lawn toward her, and with, she readily 
determines, Mr. Cravens. 

“Miss Van Velssler, Mr. Cravens wishes to be pre- 
sented,” says Dev, and leaves them, to see after his 
other guests. 

“I want to congratulate you on your awfully fine 
game of tennis,” says Mr. Cravens, taking the seat 
opposite her. “ I never saw a lady play the back-court 
game you do. Who taught you ?” 

“ I have always played tennis, but my serve, where 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 135 

I win most of my points, was taught me by a naval 
cadet friend. We used to visit here together during my 
school days.” 

“ Ah, you have visited here often ? I regret I know 
so little about my neighbors and their friends. My 
father, you know, was an Englishman, a younger son — 
oh, of only a baronet and a very new one: the title was 
just created three generations ago. After he married 
my mother (who was a kinswoman) he lived in Amer- 
ica, because she wished it. When she died, he returned 
to England. He wanted me to go to college there. I 
am not sorry, of course, I carried out his wishes, but I 
am sorry I know so little about my own country. What 
a duffer you must think me to bore you with my whole 
family history at sight,” he breaks off in confusion, 
mingled with amusement. 

There is a boyish confidence, together with a manly 
dignity, about him, that is pleasing in the extreme. 

“No, you are not boring me,” leaning forward, pre- 
paring for an animated discussion. “ Do you know I 
think the popular idea about Englishmen being un- 
communicative is wrong? I think they rarely betray 
their inmost feelings, or show emotion of any kind, but 
if an Englishman wants to know you, he tells you all 
about himself. In the same case an American would 
first want to know about you, what ‘your father does,’ 
which means what business he is in, and so on. Then 
if you are a desirable acquaintance he tells you of him- 
self; if not, he goes in search of some one who is.” 

“Is that so?” he laughs. “Well, I have not been 
at home long enough to detect those differences. Per- 
haps I am slow — like my English ancestry.” 


136 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

There is a frankness about him, a willingness to con- 
fess his faults, which is not the usual affectation of such 
confessions, born of egotism. He seems composed of 
the most admirable characteristics of the two countries 
which he may rightfully claim, without the snobbishness 
of either, and of the two evils, the lesser, perhaps, is 
the English snob — because he is not imitative, at least, 
and is less ignorant. 

“Will you play a game of tennis? I see the near 
court is vacant,” he asks. 

“I am just a little bit tired. I have not played for 
some time and am unaccustomed to the exercise. I 
have been with Mrs. Guthrie, in Washington, for the 
last two years, and they play very little there. We used 
to go to the marine barracks (Mrs. Guthrie’s husband 
is a naval officer) for a game occasionally, but even gave 
that up after a time.” 

“ That last game of yours was a stunner. By the 
way, ought you to sit in this breeze, without a wrap of 
some kind, after such exercise? Will you tell me where 
to get one for you?” 

“ It is very good of you, I’m sure. I had not thought 
of it, but believe I would better take your advice. If 
you will look at my gown, perhaps you can find the coat 
to match it in the library. Among so many, I fear 
you will find it a difficult matter, though.” 

“I’ll try,” he says, and lightly springs up the steps 
to the main balcony and disappears through the library 
window. 

In a moment he comes back triumphant. 

“ There were two almost alike, but I guessed this to 
be yours, for it has a faint odor of violets about it — you 


NAVAL CADET CAEL VLB'S GLOVE. 137 

are wearing a bunch of violets at your belt, and I 
fancied they might be favorites of yours.” 

“You have missed your vocation. You would have 
made a fine detective,” she laughingly says, as she 
stands up to let him put her coat on her. 

Dot has just come from the other end of the balcony, 
and plainly has heard the last two remarks. She looks 
from one to the other quickly, and her voice has a fret- 
ful tone as she says: 

“ Viva, they are looking for you to take a racquet in 
the court by the fountain. Hurry up; they are wait- 
ing.” 

“ I am sorry, dear, but I have just refused to play 
with Mr. Cravens. I am a little tired.” 

“ Tired already? Why, you used to play for hours at 
Hammer,” with an uplifting of her brows that is scarcely 
complimentary. 

“Yes, but it is two years since those days, and I am 
out of practice.” 

“ Mr. Cravens, I hope you are not too tired to help 
me pour tea. I need you, so will take no refusal. 
Come,” says Dot. 

“I’ll be charmed, I’m sure,” says Cravens, anything 
but charmed. “ Do you need me now ?” with a hesita- 
tion that ought to let him off free. 

“ Yes, at once.” 

“ All right. Miss Van Velssler, when are you going 
to play that game of tennis with me ? I will never be 
happy till I have beaten you.” 

“What a savage, ungallant speech,” says Viva. “It 
will give me great pleasure to humiliate you before the 
countyside almost any morning, to punish you.” 


13 ^ NAVAL CADET CAEL VLB'S GLOVE. 


Dot is impatiently tapping her high heel against the 
floor; he hurriedly bows to Viva and follows his hostess. 

“He is a good-natured, overgrown school-boy,” 
thinks Viva, “ and with no more thought of marriage in 
his head than an infant. And she is jealous of me! 
What an idea,” and she goes into the drawing-room, seats 
herself at the piano, and as the low, passionate strains 
of one of Chopin’s nocturnes falls upon the air, she draws 
an appreciative audience about her. 

Viva finds things rather awkward for the next two 
days. Mr. Cravens rides over in the mornings and in- 
sists upon her playing tennis with him. For several 
mornings they were five games each when they were 
interrupted for luncheon, but at last he beat her, much 
to his delight. Dot, not caring for tennis, has had to 
sit by and watch, a state of affairs that young woman 
by no means relishes at any time. Moreover, Mr. 
Craven’s “ appearance with the dawn,” as she terms ten 
o’clock, forces her to rise several hours sooner, or “be 
in ignorance of what goes on” ‘(see Mrs. Gaybraith). 
Mr. Cravens has exhibited such a friendly liking for 
Viva, and shows such honest pleasure in her society, 
that she finds it almost impossible to cut him. After 
refusing very firmly to ride with him a few days ago, 
and showing a preference for the village doctor, he 
came to her very much disturbed, with his boyish 
face clouded, and commanded her to tell him if he had 
offended her, apologizing for any offence he might have 
committed. She could only say she was not angry with 
him, whereupon he asked her to go rowing with him, as 
a kind of truce, he said. And she did not see how she 
could do otherwise than go. Between Miss Higgins 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 139 

and Viva there has been an armed neutrality. Miss 
Higgins has reluctantly admitted to herself that Dev is 
not more attentive to Viva than his duty to his sister’s 
guest, and so old a friend of the family, warrants, but 
she does not like her nevertheless. Dev has watched 
it all as though he was a disinterested spectator, who did 
not have a part in the drama. Day before yesterday 
he left for Louisville, to be gone for several days. 

It is nine o’clock, and Viva is in the dining-room 
alone. Her severely plain morning-gown of gray cash- 
mere, with broad, turnback collar and cuffs of white, 
suits her admirably. 

“ It seems as though I am to breakfast alone, John,” 
she says to the attending servant. “You may serve 
breakfast.” 

As she speaks, Sarah Higgins comes in. Even the 
sturdy John has to make an effort to conceal his sur- 
prise as he looks at her. Miss Higgins has evidently 
taken advantage of the absence of her fia7ice to make a 
hasty toilette, to put it mildly. She is wearing an ill- 
fitting red wrapper, and, as Dot fretfully said afterward, 
“ Nothing is so offensive as cheap red material made 
badly. One can pardon the same fit and goods in dark 
blue or a modest gray, but red is so aggressive any way.” 
Her hair is in curl papers, and the gown is not fastened 
properly at the throat. 

“ I was that tuk back, when the young lady comes 
in, I nearly drapped my tea cloth,” said John to the 
servants later. 

She does seem ashamed when she sees Viva’s com- 
plete toilet, but not a particle subdued — more on the 
offensive than ever, if possible. She is a young woman 


140 NAVAL CADLT CALL VLB'S GLOVE. 

who is enraged, rather than humiliated, by embarrass- 
ment. 

“ It ’pears like neither Mrs. Gaybraith or Miss Doro- 
thea is coming down — will you pour the coffee. Miss 
Viva ?” says John. 

He is an old servant at Riverside, and, like most of his 
class who cry, “ Down with the aristocracy! We are 
all equal in this country,” he has a great, in fact, an 
exaggerated, admiration for the haiit ton^ and readily 
perceives the difference between the two girls, and 
shows it in the petty ways within his power, such as 
offering Viva the seat of honor just now, and waiting 
upon her first. 

I once saw, in one of the leading stores in a large city, 
a shop girl treat a plainly dressed young woman with a 
great deal of insolence. The shopper was very young 
and rather timid, and in her plain street costume there 
was nothing to indicate wealth. The “ saleslady” looked 
over her head, chewing gum, and answered “ How ?” to 
the questions, which had to be repeated before she 
condescended to answer. When the customer took off 
her glove, to feel the quality of the silk, and revealed 
several exquisite diamond rings, the “ saleslady’s” at- 
tention was marked, and she volunteered her opinion 
about the goods in an insinuating and confidential 
manner, which was a startling change; but when a 
friend passing addressed the young woman by a name 
that is familiar to all the society journals, the “sales- 
lady’s” obsequiousness knew no bounds. 

Dot comes in after a few moments, and for once she 
is roused into vivid interest at the costume of her sister- 
elect. She stares at her, not maliciously, but in all 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 141 

curiosity, as one would at some rare specimen. Viva 
tries not to look conscious of the glance bestowed on 
her after the scrutiny is finished. 

“ Ah, Viva, I am glad you are presiding, and with 
your usual grace, of course. I think it an awful bore. 
I never remember who takes cream, and how many 
lumps of sugar. Dev answers, ‘Two lumps, no cream,’ 
or whatever it is, as reproachfully, when I ask him, as 
if I had done him a personal injury,” says Dot. 

' To their utter astonishment, the door opens and that 
gentleman enters. 

“Where did you come from? How did you get 
here ?” Viva and Dot both ask. Sarah tries to conceal 
herself behind the paper. 

He takes in the situation in a glance, and in no very 
good humor says: 

“ I don’t see anything very startling in my returning 
to my own home. I did not set any particular time, 
I believe, and I finished my business in time to catch 
the night train, so here I am. You, every one, seem as 
surprised as if I had dropped from the moon. Pray do 
not let me interfere with any of your plans, if my 
arrival could possibly do so.” 

“ Don’t lose your temper so early in the morning. 
You will find it bad for the digestion,” says Dot. 

Viva looks at him in silence. Perhaps her expressive 
eyes have a look of pity or sympathy in them, and she 
pours his coffee without having to ask how he takes it. 
Certainly he apologizes very prettily for his rudeness. 
Miss Higgins has not spoken at all, for once abashed 
by the wrath she sees in the eyes of her fianci. 

Mrs. Gaybraith has been pleased to accord to Mr. 


142 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


Cravens the privileges of an old, old friend. He calls 
at all hours, and the more informal and unconventional 
his visits the more gracious she is. She regrets that 
Dev and he are so uncongenial. Mr. Cravens is 
devoted to sports of all kinds, and an enemy of any- 
thing in the way of study, having just managed to re- 
ceive his degree at Oxford, with small credit to 
himself, while Dev hates all violent exercise and is 
quite well read. So, as an intimacy between them is 
an impossibility, it is only by her tact, graciousness, 
and success in throwing off all formality that she 
has managed to establish the present state of affairs. 
For once Mr. Cravens’ advent is not hailed with 
delight by the fair daughter of Riverside. He comes 
up the balcony and taps on the window, raising it 
before they can do anything, if there is anything to be 
done. 

“How do you do, lazy ones? I took the liberty of 
coming right up from the lawn, — awfully impudent of 
me, I know. I fear Mrs. Gaybraith has spoiled me, but 
she has promised me faithfully that if I get to be too 
much of a nuisance, she will send me off at double 
quick time.’’ 

He has reached the middle of the room. He fixes 
his eyes on Sarah’s brown curl papers, then becomes 
aware of the annoyance of every one and stops short. 
He seems to be torn in two by a wild desire to be swal- 
lowed up by the unfriendly earth, or to possess the 
power of becoming invisible. He gazes at them all 
apologetically, but is confronted by Dev’s suspiciously 
steadfast gaze, Dot’s look of annoyance, and Miss 
Higgins’ sullen countenance. Viva looks at him and 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 143 

thinks that his expression would be very amusing, if it 
were not all so embarrassing. 

“ Er — I thought I’d come over, and see if you would 
honor the Oaks this afternoon,” as he finally pulls him- 
self together. “ I am giving a very small party. I 
thought you would like it,” with an unconscious look at 
Dot, which puts that young woman in a state of un- 
paralleled delight. “ We will have tea in the library and 
a dance, later, in the billiard room.” 

“Splendid,” says Dot, and is the acme of sweetness 
to Viva all day. 

“All right. I’ll expect you, and if you will stay till 
the others leave. I’ll ride home with you. It will be in- 
formal enough for habits if you prefer riding instead of 
driving. There will be a moon, I believe. Am off 
now to order some necessary articles in the village, 
though Mrs. Hughes, my housekeeper, is in despair for 
fear I will forget half of them. Awfully good of you 
to come. I’m sure,” and he beats a hasty retreat. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


After breakfast Miss Higgins disappears as quickly 
as possible, Dot retires to cogitate on a costume for the 
evening, and Viva saunters to the library, followed by 
Dev. She stops at a table and becomes interested in 
some photographs. He takes a chair facing her, and 
when she at last looks at him, he says expectantly: 

“Well?” 

“ If you will pardon my saying so, it is not well at 
all, but very bad.” 

He walks up and down, and savagely kicks a foot- 
stool out of his path. 

“ I cannot understand it,” she continues. “Why you 
insist upon spoiling your future, is, I suppose, best 
known to yourself.” 

“Don’t, Viva,” he says, unconscious in his emotion 
that he has used her first name. “ Do not quarrel or 
argue with me. I cannot bear much more,” throwing 
himself into a chair again. “ Be seated, please. It makes 
me uncomfortable to talk to a person who is standing, 
and I must talk to some one or I shall go mad. I do 
not see for the life of me how this engagement came 
about. I was a freshman, and of course allowed very 
few amusements and privileges, according to college 
etiquette. I had never been away from home, alone 
that is, very much. I boarded with her mother, who 
was kindness itself to me always, and waited upon me 
144 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 145 

when I was slightly ill with the attention worthy a 
serious case, and I was very fond of her and very grate- 
ful. Sarah had a cousin visiting her. The fellows 
used to walk with them in the evening just after tea, 
and somehow she always fell to my lot. The cousin 
was a flirt, and played the other fellows pretty well; 
they would tell me of the notes and messages from and 
meetings with her; my next door neighbor was quite 
desperate about her, and I thought it the swagger thing 
for a college man to have a sweetheart. We, being 
freshmen, of course, did not dare aspire to the swell 
set, and so met very few girls. At last, under circum- 
stances with no great credit to myself, I proposed to 
Sarah.” 

“Ah, had been drinking too much, I suppose,” thinks 
Viva. 

“ During the next year I saw my mistake, but what 
could I do ? I had changed my quarters, and if I did 
not go to see her often, she wrote a note, or the mother 
would come to me and say I was breaking her daugh- 
ter’s heart. You know I have always had a horror of 
marrying a society girl. I have been called an awfully 
vain fellow, but 1 have had a morbid dread of being 
married for my money. I thought this simple country 
girl would not think of money, and I believe that she 
does care for me for myself.” 

She looks at him pityingly; evidently she does not • 
think so. 

“But it is an awful muddle as it is,” he continues, 

“ with mother and Dot against it. With all my faults 
I am not a scoundrel, and I cannot deliberately throw 
over the woman I have asked to be my wife, when she 


10 


14 ^ NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


tells me her life will be ruined if I do, even though I do 
not care for her. What must I do, Viva? Tell me.” 

“ I refuse to take the responsibility of deciding for 
you. You must do that for yourself. But I will say, 
if you think she honestly cares for you, you are doing 
her, as well as yourself, a hideous injustice to marry her 
feeling as you do, for it is very evident that you do 
not love her at all.” 

“//■J think she cares for me? Good God, do you 
doubt it?” 

“You are very ungenerous to ask me, and I refuse to 
answer.” 

“You need not; I am answered,” he says. Then 
abruptly, “I got this when I was in Louisville; she has 
always worn a simple little gold ring I happened to 
have on that night. Do you think she will be pleased ?” 
handing Viva a superb diamond ring. 

“ I do not see how she could help but admire it, for 
it is exquisite. But the question is, would she be pleased 
if she knew the spirit in which you place it on her hand ? 
And oh, my friend, will you be pleased, as you say, 
when you see it there?” 

She is holding the ring lightly on the tip of her third 
finger. He leans forward and pushes it down against 
Charlie’s class ring. 

“It would ‘please’ me more where it is,” he says. 

“You forget yourself,” and an angry flush covers 
her face. “You do not know what you are say- 
ing.” 

“ Perhaps I do, only too well.” He lets his hands fall 
to his sides, and gazes moodily out of the window. 

“You will regret this to-morrow, I am sure,” waiting, 


NAVAL CADE 7^ CAELYLE'S GLOVE. 147 

woman-like, for him to apologize for what she has, 
perhaps, brought on herself. 

“Leave me now,” he says wearily, “and please do 
not think worse of me than you can help.” 

It is the evening of Mrs. Gaybraith’s dance. Once 
a year she entertains the mob, as she terms the village 
people. Of course, she has invited those who usually 
grace her smaller and more select entertainments, but 
to-night there will be present people who are only hon- 
ored with an invitation to Riverside once a year. Mrs. 
Gaybraith does not go to any elaborate preparations, 
nor does “ the mob” expect it, but is contented to come 
and make merry as best it may, and put up with the 
village orchestra for dance music, and a supper fur- 
nished by the village confectioner. Of course, at the 
swell dinners, chefs and music are ordered from Louis- 
ville. 

Viva is standing in the hall doorway, talking to a 
youth who “ lives, moves and has his being” in the vil- 
lage post-office. In fact, she is making Mr. Gallo- 
way’s life one of delight this evening, and has seen as 
little of Mr. Cravens as polite society permits, for he 
has insisted upon asking her to dance when she had no 
engagement, and she has been obliged to waltz with 
him. Miss Higgins comes up, breathless from a polka, 
which she has turned into a romp. She has honored 
Viva with a great deal of her society for the last few 
days — perhaps because Dev and Viva have studiously 
avoided each other since his visit to Louisville, and 
possibly because Viva has taken pains to smooth over 
several rough places for her and relieve her from 


148 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

awkward positions. Any way her friendship, such as it 
is, is offered to Viva. 

“Come with me. Viva, and tie my sash,” dragging 
her down the hall. Miss Higgins is of that class of 
girls, whose one idea of intimacy is the use of the first 
name. 

“ My mother-in-law rather cut up about my gown,” 
continues Miss Higgins; “said it was cut too low, and 
pinned a lot of roses on me, to hide my neck, but I 
gave one to every fellow I saw, and I have danced the 
rest off,” she gasps, her ample chest generously dis- 
played and heaving from the exercise of the dance. 
Her skin is very beautiful. 

“Just the style of girl to fascinate a very young and 
inexperienced college man,” thinks Viva. 

“ I don’t know why I let them cut up to me so for,” 
adds Sarah. “ Goodness knows there is young Spauld- 
ing who is crazy about me. I can get him any day, and 
he has a lot more money, if he is only a fresh.” 

“ I see,” thinks Viva. “ She is what the college men 
term ‘a college widow’ — and like all the middle classes, 
in college towns, receives only the attentions of the 
freshmen, who, when they grow to be upper classmen, 
forget to know their humble friends who kindly whiled 
away the dreary plebe days.” 

“I tell you what,” says Miss Higgins, confidentially, 
as Viva puts the finishing touch to the sash, “don’t be 
surprised if you hear that it is young Spaulding after 
all,” and she turns to her partner and they polka madly 
down the room. 

Some one passes from behind a screen on to the bal- 
cony. Viva starts, and asks herself if it could have been 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 149 

Dev. What will he do ? she wonders. Before she can 
follow, some one calls out to her. 

“By Jove, Miss Van Velssler, where do you manage 
to hide yourself? I have been looking everywhere for 
you to take you to supper. You haven’t forgotten, I 
hope, like you did the last dance,” reproachfully, “that 
you promised to let me go to supper with you.” 

“ No, I have not forgotten, Mr. Cravens. Let us walk 
through the rooms and find Dot, and ask her to join us.” 

“As you wish,” he says, offering her his arm. 

“ Oh !” she says and stops short. “ There is old Mr. 
Wilson ; I know he wants me to dance. I got out of it 
the first part of the evening by promising him an extra 
during supper. I cannot bear to dance with him.” 

“I should think not! The idea of the old duffer 
having the nerve to ask you. He always smells so of 
snuff! Come in here,” and he hurries her into a small 
room off the library. 

Old Mr. Wilson seems to be coming after them, and 
they take refuge behind the curtains of a bay window. 
Mr. Wilson comes in through the hall door as Dot and 
her mother enter from the library. 

“ Have you seen my pretty little partner, Mrs. Gay- 
braith? Miss Viva, I mean. What a figure she has! 
I saw her with Cravens some time ago, but I have 
searched all the rooms, and she is nowhere to be 
found.” 

“ Indeed,” says Mrs. Gaybraith rather coldly. “ Per- 
haps if you looked on the balconies or the grounds you 
might find her.” 

“ I’ll try. Ha, ha! lucky dog, that Cravens. On the 
balconies, eh ?” and the old man ambles out. 


ISO NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


“There, I told you so!” says Mrs. Gaybraith, turn- 
ing on Dot in a perfect fury. “You insisted upon hav- 
ing that girl here, and you see the consequences. Any 
one with half an eye can see that Dev is falling in love 
with her, and if he throws over his objectionable fiancie,, 
it will be for her sake; and every one is talking about 
Cravens’ attentions to her. She is playing him against 
Dev, and will take the first one who proposes.” 

Mr. Cravens and Viva stand transfixed. She is very 
pale; his color comes and goes. He shuts his hands 
tight, and once starts to throw open the curtains and 
face them, but she lays a detaining hand on his arm. 
What is the use of a scene? she thinks. They have 
unintentionally become eavesdroppers, and they must 
remain where they are. She pictures Dot’s humiliation 
if she should know Mr. Cravens had heard her mother’s 
outspoken matrimonial plans for him. 

“I do not believe Viva would marry Dev,” Dot 
waveringly asserts. 

“You always were a fool, Dorothea,” Mrs. Gay- 
braith says, emphatically. “You’ll believe she’d marry 
Cravens when we get up some fine day, and find them 
eloped. That rot about her going to marry Charlie 
Carlyle is all thin air; you see she has not mentioned it. 
Oh, no, my lady prefers a husband with a bank account, 
if you please, to a penniless naval officer. Well, you 
have your own self to thank for it. It was your fool- 
hardiness in bringing her here.” 

“I wish she had not come,” says Dot, almost crying. 

“Don’t be an idiot, and cry; it will make your nose 
red. Go back to your guests,” says Mrs. Gaybraith, 
sweeping out and bearing Dot in her train. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 151 

When they are gone, Viva sinks into a chair and looks 
at him. He cannot meet her eyes, but walks up and 
down the little alcove, his boyish face flushed to a deep 
crimson, and his clear brow knitted. 

“ I say. Miss Van Velssler, it is an awful shame for 
you to have heard this. I would not have had it hap- 
pen for anything. I don’t believe — er ” 

“ You think I am not trying to marry you or Dev ? 
Thank you,” she says, ironically. 

“ Don’t put it like that,” he says, deeply pained. 

“ Six weeks from yesterday I am going to marry Mr. 
Carlyle, the ‘penniless naval officer.’ ” 

Perhaps he grows a shade paler and his lips are a 
trifle unsteady under his blond mustache — or is it the 
light ? This home-made gas always flickers so. He 
turns in his walk, comes up to her and takes both her 
hands in his. 

“I am awfully sorry you told me,” he says. “That 
is, of course, I mean I would be honored by your confi- 
dence, but I am sorry that you felt it necessary to tell 
me now, don’t you see. By Jove, if I could punch 
somebody’s head I’d feel better.” 

She looks up into his face and smiles. She is rather 
amused at his very English way of expressing his 
indignation. 

“I had intended telling you to-night any way,” she 
says. 

“Had you? That is awfully good of you. You do 
not know how pleased I am to hear you say that! If I 
thought you had told me because of this, you know, I 
would have been awfully cut up. By the way, Miss 
Van Velssler, can you not use me for an usher or some- 


152 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


thing:? Please let me be an attendant at your wed- 
ding. 

She draws her hands gently from his, and the slight 
trembling of her lips shows she is touched at and ap- 
preciates his genuine friendship for her. 

“ I should be very much pleased to have you, if 
there was to be anything of the kind, but there isn’t. 
We are to be married very quietly in the pres- 
ence of a few of his classmates and his cousins. 
Lieutenant and Mrs. Guthrie. Believe me, your friend- 
ship has been very pleasant to me. I would like 
to see you to say good-by to you before I leave in 
the morning. Now you had better take me back, 
perhaps.” 

Her next partner claims her for the dance as they 
enter the library, and she goes off with him. After the 
waltz is finished, she seats herself on a sofa in the hall, 
and, more to get rid of him than anything, sends him 
for an ice. 

“There she is now,” says Sarah, at the Other end of 
the hall, and comes toward Viva, followed by Dev and 
several others. “We have a telegram for you,” Sarah 
adds, all curiosity. “A boy just brought it from the 
village. It is marked ‘rush,’ so we came at once to 
find you. Not bad news, I hope.” 

“ Thank you,” says Viva, carelessly taking it, “ if you 
had lived with Mrs. Guthrie as long as I have, your 
nerves would have become hardened to telegrams. 
She just revels in them. This is probably from her, to 
say what the morning papers would tell me, that her 
husband’s ship has arrived, or that Madame Elise can- 
not match the silk for my new gown. Where can Mr. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 153 

Galloway have gone to with that ice I sent him for, I 
wonder ?” 

They see that she is not going to gratify their curi- 
osity, so take themselves back to the dance. 

“Whatever it is. I’ll make it an excuse to depart to- 
morrow,” thinks Viva, as she tears open the enevlope. 

How often those words recur to her and make her 
writhe in agony! She reads: 

“ Charlie drowned at Old Point last night. Buried 
at Annapolis Friday afternoon. Send you letters and 
further details by mail to Washington address. 

“William Harris.” 

She tries to move, to cry out, but she is powerless to 
do either. The shock is so sudden, so terrible, that her 
brain seems numbed. She can only gaze vacantly at 
the dancers. One or two people pass and speak to her, 
but she can form no reply. She still holds the tele- 
gram in her hand. Mr. Cravens passes through the 
hall, and, seeing her, stops. 

“ Have you seen — good heavens, what is the matter?” 
noticing for the first time her expression. “ I heard you 
had received a telegram ; it must have contained bad 
news. Can I do anything for you? You look ill. Let 
me get you a glass of wine.” 

She shakes her head. He sits down beside her and 
gently unfastens her fan from her side and fans her. 
He does not like to leave her, so calls a waiter to bring 
a glass of wine. He considerately and dexterously 
shields her face with the fan when any one passes. He 
takes the wine from the waiter and tells her to drink it. 
It is pitiful to see the childlike way she obeys him in 


154 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

everything. She seems to have no will of her own. 
Her hands lie passive in her lap, 

“ Possibly you had better go upstairs,” he says. 

She silently gets up and permits him to lead her to 
the first landing. “ Are you going to-morrow ?” She 
nods her head. 

“ I wish I could do something to help you. I am 
sure you would call upon me, if I could,” he says, 
pressing her cold hand in his. “I’ll come over in the 
morning and take you to the train. Good-night,” as 
he puts her fan in her hand, and gives her the telegram, 
which she had dropped. He fancies she might not 
want its contents known. 

She thinks that she will be gone when he comes in 
the morning. He will never dream of her going on the 
very early train, but what does it matter? — nothing 
matters. 

“Will you go with Miss Van Velssler to her room? 
She is ill, and I think needs your care,” he says to a 
maid who is passing. 

It is Martha. She has to lead Viva to her room. 

“ Help me to pack, Martha; I must leave on the first 
train — you will please tell Hopkins.” 

She permits Martha to undress her, but objects to 
having a dressing gown put on. 

“ My travelling gown,” she says. 

“ But, Miss Viva, it’s only a little after twelve o’clock, 
and your train goes at six; surely you want to rest 
first.” 

She shakes her head and reaches for the travelling 
gown; then sits on a sofa and watches Martha. She 
thinks of the last time Martha helped her to pack — her 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 155 

wedding day. And she had taken ol¥ the little clay- 
stained slippers he wanted, and sent them to his room. 
He was so gay, so bright, the life of the house, surely 
he can not be — Oh, she must have read the telegram 
wrong; why had she not thought of that? She rushes 
to the bureau and tumbles things over to find it. She 
feverishly tosses everything in her way on the floor. 
She reads it again. How horrible the words look on 
the hideous yellow paper. She tries to remember them, 
but somehow the sentences always get mixed up and 
she has to refer to the paper over and over again. At 
last everything is packed. Martha puts a stool at her 
feet and lingers, loath to leave her, she looks so strange. 

“ Do you want me to stay with you. Miss Viva ?” 

“ No, you are very kind, but I prefer to be alone.” 

With a last touch to the room, Martha goes. And as 
soon as the door closes Viva puts out the gas, throws 
up the curtains and waits for the dawn. How strange 
it is! she thinks; but she is only cold and still, and 
seems to be choking. If she only could cry ! 

She arrives at the station much too soon the next 
morning, having urged Hopkins to drive faster all the 
way. Old Peters comes to help her out of the cart. 

“Going away. Miss? Ye’re early — train don’t come 
for mor’n half an hour. Want a ticket to Annapolis? 
Waal, I kin only accommodate you as fur as Washing- 
ton. Annapolis, that is where the young gentlemen 
is. Will yer give my regards to Mr. Charlie, if it 
wouldn’t be presumin’ ?” 

She shrinks from him. To save her life she cannot 
tell him. She cannot force herself to say the word 
dead. She at last reaches the junction and boards the 


156 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

through train. Will she be in time ? she repeats over 
and over to herself. In the sleeper, she hears some, 
people talking of the accident. She thinks she will go 
mad, if they keep it up. She rings the bell for the train- 
boy to bring her the Louisville papers, and reads: 

“Drowned in Harbor at Old Point!” 

“A Young Naval Officer Loses His Life in 
Sight of His Ship. 

“ Last evening Cadets William Harris and Charles 
Carlyle, of the U. S. S. Atlanta^ one of the White 
Squadron, went ashore at seven o’clock, spending the 
evening at the Hygeia Hotel. Owing to some mistake, 
when they reached the pier they found the officers’ 
boat gone, and had to secure a small sailboat to take 
them to their ship. The boatman was probably careless, 
and they were capsized. The evening being very cool, 
the cadets had on their topcoats. Cadet Carlyle had 
the pockets of his filled with purchases for his class- 
mates, and was weighted down, and, although he was an 
expert swimmer, he never rose.. The body was re- 
covered two hours later. Cadet Harris was saved with 
assistance from the ship. Boatman, unknown, was also 
drowned. The cadets had just been ordered to An- 
napolis for final examination. The sad part of the 
affair is Cadet Carlyle’s engagement to a Washington 
belle, which had just been announced. He will be 
buried on Friday at two o’clock at the Government 
Cemetery at Annapolis.” 

The paper falls from her hand, and she looks out at 
the flying landscape. How silly those sheep look jump- 
ing about so! What a sickly green the trees are! 
Why is it that babies seem to be so in the majority on 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


157 


sleepers, and, notwithstanding the time that they and 
their nurses spend in the dressing-room, they are always 
so depressingly dirty? Why will their mothers let them 
journey so continually to the water-cooler, and fall into 
every section in passing, and put their sticky hands on 
one’s pillows ? 

“That was quite a sad affair about young Carlyle,” 
says an old man opposite. 

“ Yes,” says a man in checked trousers, who has spent 
the morning telling of “when I was in the Rockies,” or 
“when I was such a place,” feeling himself an Ameri- 
can Stanley, no doubt. “ Do you know,” continues the 
all-important, travelled youth, “ I have noticed those 
topcoats the navy men wear, and wondered what they 
would do if they fell overboard with one on, they are 
so heavy, so long and so tight.” 

A wonder he does not suggest to the department to 
have the coats lined with life-preservers! 

“ The brass buttons help to make them heavy too, I 
suppose,” says the old man. 

“ Do the past midshipmen, as they used to say — I be- 
lieve they have done away with that rank now — have 
brass buttons on their coats, or wear the regulation 
officers’ coat ?” asks a man in the same section. “ They 
‘rate,’ as they say, both as cadets and officers, and it 
seems to me that they are neither ‘fresh fish nor good 
salt herring.’ The paper speaks of them once as 
officers and afterward as cadets.” 

“I suspect,” says the checked-trousers youth, “they 
forgot to leave their conceit on shore, and that capsized 
the boat.” 

A laugh goes up at this witticism — it is altogether 


158 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

from what point we view a situation whether it assumes 
a tragical or a comical aspect. 

Viva raises her window and leans out to get away 
from the chatter about her. It is raining very hard 
when she reaches Washington. There is another change 
before she arrives at Annapolis, but it is quieter and 
the cars are less crowded. The banging of the trunks, 
the turmoil at the station almost drive her mad. At 
last she is there. 

“To the Academy,” she says, entering a cab. 

She does not seem to notice the rain; she has left her 
umbrella in one of the cars. She pays the cabman 
and forgets to tell him to wait. She passes the guard- 
house and the monument, and goes down the row of 
officers’ houses to the little chapel. A marine is on duty, 
with his musket at “carry.” 

“Cadet Carlyle?” she asks. “Am I in time?” 

“Yes, Miss, in the chapel,” stopping a moment re- 
spectfully in his walk. “ A relative, I suppose, poor 
thing,” he thinks. “I wonder why some of the officers 
didn’t meet her.” 

In the chapel she sees one of his classmates; she 
recognizes the uniform. He looks at her white face 
and retires to a window, with his back to her. She 
goes up to the coffin. How white he is! she has never 
seen him so still before. They have put on his full 
dress uniform. His hair is combed so straight! She 
pushes one curl across his forehead, as it used to fall 
sometimes in spite of “the regulation cut.” How 
strange it is he does not look at her, speak to her or 
take her in his arms! The marriage can never be an- 
nounced now; his father will not live long and he must 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 159 

not think badly of the son he loved so well. Of course 
that was what Will meant by saying he had sent her 
letters — the officers had not had time to go through his 
papers; but Will suspected the contents of her letters 
and sent them before they could be read. She takes off 
his class ring; his hands looked so peaceful that she 
cannot disturb them, so she drops it into the coffin. It 
falls noiselessly against the white satin cushion. One 
last lingering look and she turns away. The cadet 
comes toward her. 

“ Can I be of any service to you, madame ?” he says, 
raising his cap. 

She has reached the door. 

“ If you would kindly direct me to the gate — I — 
seem to have forgotten the way,” pressing her hands to 
her head. 

“Ridley, take this lady to the gate,” he calls to a 
cadet who is passing. “A friend of Carlyle’s — see if 
you can do anything for her,” he adds sotto voce. 

The cadet just addressed is so muffled up in his 
“ rain clothes” that it would be hard to recognize him. 
He turns up the rim of his hat, so she can see his face, 
and walks beside her. He looks at her curiously and 
says something to her which she does not hear. 

“My carriage is gone,” she says plaintively, “I left 
it here.” 

“Go into the guardhouse, out of the rain, and I’ll 
see if I can get one for you.” 

After a few moments, he does manage it and comes 
for and places her in the carriage. 

“ Where shall I tell him to drive ?” 

“ To the depot.” 


i6o NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

“ Can I be of any service to you ? Go with you, or 
assist you in getting your ticket?” 

She looks too ill to be alone; she is a woman and in 
distress, and the friend, or something, of his dead class- 
mate — all the chivalry of his nature is brought to the 
surface. He wonders what he must do if she faints. 

“You are very good, but I do not require anything,” 
leaning back and closing her eyes. 

Then there is nothing to be done but to give the 
order to the cabman, lift his rubber hat respectfully and 
stand aside for the carriage to turn off. 

There is a wait of three hours at the dilapitated 
little station. She walks up and down the platform; 
it is fortunately sheltered from the weather. She pic- 
tures to herself the solemn funeral procession on its 
way to the Government grounds. It is too bad it is 
such a rainy day — he was so fond of sunshine. If only 
the sun had shone to-day! Across the little river 
faintly sounds taps. She strains every nerve to hear. 
She knows they are lowering the coffin. The bugle 
notes of the weird refrain fall like a blow on her ear. 

“ Love, good-night ; love, good-night. 

Must you go ? Must you go ? 

When I need you so 1 ” 

the bugle mournfully sounds, dying away into a wail. 

Taps have sounded for that brave young officer for 
the last time. He has put out his lights for alway. 
Nothing will disturb his rest. He will sleep on till that 
last morn when the angel trumpeter sounds reveille. 


CHAPTER XV. 


She never knows how she reaches Washington. She 
gets out at the little station to change cars, with a kind 
of instinct. Once more in Washington, she goes to her 
hotel. As she passes down the corridor to her room, 
she hears a young woman in the next room, playing the 
mandolin she borrowed before Dot’s letter came. How 
she hates the sound of the tinkling thing! She will give 
it to the girl, as she seems to like it. She herself will 
never touch it again. Marie springs forward to meet 
her as she opens the door. 

“Viva, darling!” taking her in her arms. 

“ I have seen him,” she says simply. 

“ I have been so uneasy about you, dear,” mercifully 
refraining from asking her any questions. “ Come into 
my room, by the fire, and let me take these wet clothes 
off you. I telegraphed to Riverside when I first heard, 
but they said you had gone; had bought a ticket for 
Washington. I went to the afternoon train to meet you, 
but as you did not come I feared you had missed con- 
nection, so wired again. A Mr. Cravens there has 
been very good in wiring me all the information in his 
power, and Dev offered to come. I never thought of 
your going there alone, dear — I would so gladly have 
gone with you. Jeff is there.” 

“ I know you would, but I feared to be delayed a 

i6i 


II 


1 62 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

moment, I fancy I could not think very clearly about 
anything,” she says tiredly. 

“ Poor little thing,” kissing her. “ You are worn out. 
I had everything in your room ready in case you 
came,” touching a match to the fire arranged in the 
grate. 

Marie has carefully put out of sight everything that 
will remind her too painfully of Charlie. The simple 
trousseau has been packed away, and the box of an- 
nouncement cards to be sent out after the wedding has 
been removed from her desk. Viva goes up to her 
toilet table and sees a package addressed to herself. 
She listlessly turns it over; she has seen that writing 
surely; she mechanically opens it. It is her letters and 
the little soiled slippers Will has returned. There is a 
long letter from him on top, but she scarcely notices it 
— she will appreciate that later. It tells her principally 
what the papers did, only more sympathetically. She 
has borne the strain as long as possible; she breaks 
down utterly now. 

“ How could I have been so stupid as not to guess 
what that was ?” thinks Marie, as she leads her toward 
the bed and tucks her in as lovingly as a mother would 
her child. Then she lowers the shades, kisses her, and 
mercifully leaves her alone with her grief. 

It is two weeks later. Viva sits in Marie’s room, by 
the fire, with her feet on the fender. She is always 
cold lately. For the first few days after Charlie’s death 
the papers were full of it. They did not spare her at 
all. One paper, a little more progressive than the rest, 
had her picture in— not that it was at all like her— and 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 163 

in a gown she never saw, but that was, of course, a minor 
detail. She was described as of half a dozen differ- 
ent types. The navy women asked each other who she 
was, and a few, who had sons in the class or at the 
Naval Academy, went so far as to leave cards; then they 
forgot her in the discussion of the final army and navy 
reception at the White House. If Marie had fears of 
there being any violent outbursts of grief, they were 
never realized. After that first day she never gave 
way, but sat forever quietly before the fire, with her 
hands folded calmly in her lap, and her lids drooped 
pathetically over her eyes. They had had to discuss 
ways and means; Viva had insisted upon securing a 
position as teacher or companion, and Marie had equally 
insisted that nothing of the kind must be thought of 
yet anyway, but that Viva must remain her guest for 
an indefinite period. Viva would not consent, and after 
all, perhaps it was best, thought Marie, to let her go 
among strangers and have new duties to perform — any- 
thing to wake her out of this apathy into which she has 
fallen. 

“ I wonder what she would say, if she knew I was his 
wife?” Viva had thought several times. 

Marie had noticed that the class ring was gone, but 
thought she had lost it, and to be reminded of it would 
pain her, so she delicately refrained from mentioning 
it. 

“Viva, listen to this,” says Marie, entering with The 
Evening Star in her hand, “ since you are determined on 
that mad scheme of yours: 

“‘Wanted. — A companion for a young invalid lady. 
Must be good reader and musical. To go out of the 


164 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


city. Apply at once. Best references required. 
Henry Henderson, Arlington Hotel. ’ 

“What do you think of that?” 

“It sounds very well; and as Jeff is ordered to the 
Pacific slope, Washington will be dull without you. I 
think I would prefer going away.” 

“Very well, I’ll write at once to Mr. Henry Hen- 
derson (I do not like the name, it sounds too jingling) 
and tell him that we will receive him this evening.” 

A slow smile flits over Viva’s face at Marie’s way of 
expressing herself. 

“ He might say that he will receive us this evening,” 
she says. 

“Not a bit of it! Nothing like putting a high value 
on one’s self,” says Marie, as she scribbles a little per- 
fumed note and dispatches it by a bell boy. 

After dinner, Marie puts her little sitting-room in 
order and watches the clock rather impatiently ; she is 
full of curiosty to know if he will come and what he 
will be like. At eight o’clock a bellboy knocks at the 
door and hands her a card. “Henry Henderson,” she 
reads, and in one corner is “ Att’y at Law.” 

“Show the gentleman up here,” she says to the boy. 
“ So he is a lawyer,” still looking at the card, as though 
she could gain some further information from that. 

In a few moments the door is thrown open and the 
boy announces Mr. Henderson. Marie goes toward 
him. 

“ Mr. Henderson,” she says, bowing her pretty head, 
“Mrs. Guthrie, and this is Miss Van Velssler, in whose 
name I answered your advertisement this afternoon. 
Will you be seated, please ?” 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 165 

She quickly decides he is rather handsome — medium 
height; possibly a little too heavy; dark hair; gray 
eyes that are very roving and restless and cannot look 
into one’s own without a hard look coming into them 
that hides whatever emotion he may feel, like a mask; 
he does not seem to know what to do with his hands 
and feet, and yet, withal, there is a certain consequen- 
tial air about him. He is an odd mixture of audacity 
and embarrassment. There is a droop about his mouth 
that indicates brutality and cruelty, and the wavering ex- 
pression in the eyes stamps him as cowardly. Yet there 
is something about him that shows a great desire to 
please. *Marie sums it all up quickly. 

“Very easy to manage, if one takes a high hand, 
and the redeeming quality is generosity,” is her mental 
decision. 

He seems scarcely to know how to begin. Marie has 
gently to suggest to him the business that is before 
them. 

“You said you wanted a companion,” she begins, 
after a few comments on the weather, the damage of 
the storm of last night, et ccetera. “ Will you tell us for 
whom you wish one, and what her duties will be?” 

He glances uneasily at Viva a second, hesitates, then 
says: 

“ For my wife. She is almost an invalid, though I 
never say so before her, and — er — her education has 
been interrupted; that is, it has not been finished in the 
regulation way, at college, on account of her health, 
and I wish some one who will direct her reading — help 
her with her music and amuse her, don’t you see?” 

“ I am perhaps capable of assisting her with English, 


1 66 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

French, and German classics, and I play on several 
instruments, but I fear I am not proficient enough in 
Greek and Latin,” says Viva. 

An odd smile crosses his face. Viva thinks it is 
because she speaks so confidently of her accomplish- 
ments, and she becomes very flushed. 

“ I fancy my wife will not want to study Greek and 
Latin,” he says. 

Again the arrangements seem to hang fire. Viva 
looks at him with a slight degree of curiosity and Marie 
expectantly. 

“In regard to references,” says. Marie, seeing she 
must continue, “ my husband is Lieutenant Guthrie of 
the United States Navy. Miss Van Velssler is a connec- 
tion of ours, and Congressman Atkins of South Caro- 
lina is her godfather.” 

“Yes,” he says absently, looking at Viva. “These 
are mine,” handing Marie some cards. “ I would be 
very much pleased if you will accept the position, Miss 
Van Velssler. We would try to make your stay with 
us pleasant,” with a smile that does away with the 
previous impression of him and makes him look very 
likable indeed. 

“You forget you have not told us where you live and 
what time you would like her to enter upon her duties,” 
says Marie. 

“To be sure. I am unaccustomed to doing business 
with ladies, which will account for my awkwardness. 
I live in Louisville, and I would like her to come at 
once. And in regard to salary,” he mentions a sum 
that surprises Viva very much, and makes Marie want 
to apologize to him for thinking anything uncompli- 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 167 

mentary about him. “ This is Tuesday,” he continues, 
“and I leave for my home Thursday morning.” 

“ Do you mean that you want me to be ready to go 
with you then ?” says Viva, for the first time asking a 
question. 

He looks embarrassed, glances about, but as she is 
waiting, he is forced to answer. 

“Well, — er — that might hurry you too much, and I 
may have to leave to-morrow night, which you would 
find inconvenient, I know. Suppose we say you come 
Friday? My carriage will meet you, and, in case there 
should be a mistake and the coachman miss you, this 
is the address,” laying a card on the table. 

“ As you prefer,” says Viva, perhaps a trifle haughtily. 

He seems inclined to linger, but they do not ask him 
to stay, so he rises, bids them adieu and departs. 
There is silence for some time after he is gone. Then 
Marie can stand it no longer. 

“Well?” she asks. 

“ He seems to object to travelling with his wife’s 
companion,” says Viva scornfully. 

“ No,” hesitatingly, “that was not it, I am sure.* To 
my mind he would rather have liked it. But there was 
some reason why he is to go on one train and you the 
next! Viva, don’t go,” kneeling down beside her chair 
and putting her arms about her. “ I think you will not 
be happy there — somehow I cannot like him.” 

“ Nonsense ! I do not see anything objectionable in 
him, except the way he has of not looking at one when 
he speaks, and gazing so uncomfortably hard when he 
thinks one is not looking. But as I am not to be his 
companion, his manners will not affect me. His refer- 


i68 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


ences are excellent,” taking up the cards, “and the 
salary is better than one could expect, to say nothing 
of the duties of a companion not being as tedious as 
those of a teacher.” 

“Yes,” says Marie, getting up with a sigh, “I sup- 
pose you are right.” 

The parting between Marie and Viva is very sad and 
very deeply felt. It is like saying good-by to the 
brightest part of her life to Viva; she knows there is a 
very long, unlovely road before her, and that the battle 
will be a hard one, and will not be ended till life itself 
is ended. She has packed up the pretty odds and ends 
of bric-a-brac that Charlie sent her from abroad, and 
leaves them with Marie, to store with her things. “ I 
will probably never be situated so that I can call for 
them, dear; if so, keep them as a remembrance of the 
pleasant times we have had together.” 

It was very hard bidding adieu to the little apart- 
ment where she has been so happy, but it is over now, 
the parting, and she does not like to think of it. In a 
few minutes she will enter upon a new life — what will 
it be like ? 

The carriage stops in front of a very handsome 
brown stone house on Third Avenue. A servant in 
dark blue livery opens the door. 

“You are the young” (he intended to say person, 
but there is something about her that restrains him, 
and he says instead) “ lady that Mrs. Henderson is ex- 
pecting, I suppose, ril have one of the maids show you 
up to your room.” Viva follows the girl upstairs. The 
room she is shown into on the second floor, at the back 


naval cadet carlylns glove. 169 


of the house, is a very pleasant one, and overlooks the 
long garden, which is, like the grounds of most Louis- 
ville houses, at the back of the house. She watches 
them unstrap her trunk, then lays out her combs, 
brushes and toilet bottles, arranges her writing desk, 
and sits down, waiting to be sent for. When one first 
occupies new apartments there seems to be nothing to 
do. It is too new to rest pleasantly and let old memo- 
ries rise, but one waits impatiently for the next features 
in one’s existence to develop themselves. She has not 
written to any one since Charlie died; she received a 
great many notes of condolence, of course, principally 
from his classmates and her own. Dot wrote very 
sweetly — almost every word seemed a passionate and 
hidden apology for the wrong she had done her and 
which she believed Viva still ignorant of ; but she could 
not bring herself to answer any of them, and had asked 
Marie to do so for her. Will’s being the only letter she 
wrote herself. 

It grows very late, and they have not sent for her. 
Perhaps she was supposed to come down when that bell 
rang — no doubt it was the dinner bell. She smooths 
her hair and goes into the corridor. She sees Mr. 
Henderson standing at the head of the steps. 

“ How do you do. Miss Van Velssler?” he says, offer- 
ing her his hand. “ Hope you had a pleasant trip.” 

“ Very pleasant, thank you. I waited in my room 
expecting to be told when I was to see Mrs. Hender- 
son, but I supposed that was the dinner bell and thought 
perhaps she would expect me to go down.” 

His ease of manner seems to vanish. 

“ It was the dinner bell, but my wife generally takes 


lyo NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

her meals in her sitting-room — er — you are to come to 
dinner with me, if you don’t mind,” he adds, leading 
the way. 

She notices that the small table is not laid for two, 
and she feels like annihilating herself for not staying in 
her room. They are very quiet through dinner; Mr. 
Henderson seems rather to hurry through it, and rises 
gladly when it is over. 

“ Now, if you please, I will introduce you to my wife.” 

Viva follows him, and he stops at a door in a quaint 
little corridor off the main hall and taps lightly before 
entering. 

“ Is it you, Henry?” says a fretful voice. “ I thought 
I would have to go to bed before you came, you were 
so long. This is one of my bad days, and you know how 
much worse it makes me to be kept waiting.” 

” I know, dear, and I am very sorry, but it was un- 
avoidable,” leaning over the sofa, and hiding Viva 
from view. 

In fact, it is a few seconds before he seems to remem- 
ber her, and she has time to take a survey of the hot, 
crowded little room. Its color is blue ; everything is blue ; 
there is not even another tone to rest the tired eye. The 
hangings, walls, carpet, covers, and cushions, all are 
blue. The mistress of the apartment is lying at full length 
on the sofa in a morning-gown of blue nun’s-veiling. 

“ I would grow to hate this sickly shade, if I had to 
stay in this room long,” thinks Viva. 

“Dear, this is Miss Van Velssler. I hope you will 
be better now that she has come,” says Mr. Hender- 
son, at last, becoming aware that Viva is waiting. 

She comes up to the sofa as he speaks. 


NAVAL CADE!' CAELVLE'jS GLOVE. 171 

“ I do not think anything will make me better,” says 
the lady of the blue room, crossly. 

“At least, I hope I will be able to make you pass the 
time more pleasantly,” says Viva. “You are fond of 
music, I believe. I usually manage to interest people 
who are — I am so fond of music myself.” 

“ I don’t care for music at all, only Henry is so anx- 
ious to have me learn.” 

“ I am only anxious to keep you as you are, dear. 
But I thought you would find it pleasant if you could 
become interested in music,” says Mr. Henderson. 

A smile like that of a spoiled, gratified child passes 
over her face. Viva is puzzled and fears to venture 
another remark. She looks at the shrunken figure on 
the sofa, and wonders how a man of Mr. Henderson’s 
type could have cared for her. They seem entirely 
unsuited to each other: she seems in ignorance of the 
fact, but he is painfully conscious of it. He does not 
look like a man to have such patience and forbearance 
as, his words to his wife suggest, yet why should he as- 
sume to have, if such is not the case ? She cannot 
understand it. Mrs. Henderson must be nearly as tall 
as her husband. The color seems to have faded from 
her eyes and hair, they are a neutral tint, and her skin 
is very clear, though she is exceedingly pale. 

“Will you be seated. Miss Van Velssler?” Mr. Hen- 
derson says. 

Viva notices that there is a shade of difference in his 
tone to her before his wife. He is, perhaps, all that 
courtesy requires — certainly as polite as necessary to his 
wife’s companion; but there was a tone of deference in 
his manner in Washington, and when she met him this 


172 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

evening that is missing now. She thinks he strives to 
soften and modulate his voice when speaking to his 
wife, and to harden it when addressing any one else, 
for he uses the same hard tone in speaking to the house- 
keeper, who comes for orders. And certainly one of 
the few grudging compliments Marie paid him was upon 
the low and sweet qualities of his voice. 

“I hope you don’t wear black, Miss Van Velssler?” 
is the first remark Mrs. Henderson condescends to 
address to her. 

Viva had not bought mourning at Charlie’s death — 
Marie would not allow it. “ It is all nonsense for you 
to go to that expense,” said she briskly, “ when you talk 
of making your own living. It is a barbarous custom, 
any way ; it does not make us grieve any more sincerely 
for our dear ones, but has a depressing effect upon the 
spirits and is injurious to the general health.” So she 
had allowed herself to be guided in this by Marie. Not 
that she cared — what difference did a few furbelows of 
crape signify on one’s gown? she thought wearily. But 
she had a black dress and had got in the habit of 
wearing it, because she had grown not to care what she 
wore. She sees that Mrs. Henderson is waiting for her 
to reply. 

“ I do not wear mourning, if that is what you mean ; 
I do wear black very often,” she says. 

“ Well, I do not care, if I know it is not mourning.” 

“ My darling can bear nothing that is not bright about 
her,” says Mr. Henderson, bending over his wife in a 
manner that would have made Beau Brummel mad 
with envy. 

Viva leans back in her chair sick and faint. 


To 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 173 

have her wounds torn open by such a ruthless hand is 
almost more than she can bear. How hot the room is! 

“ You are tired, Molly, love, I fear,” says Mr. Hender- 
son. “ Shall I ring for your maid and carry you to 
your room ?” 

Viva rises at once. 

“Then I will say good-night to you,” she says. “I 
hope you will have a restful night. What time shall I 
come to you in the morning?” 

“ I always take my breakfast in bed ; but you can — 
ah, Henry, what time do you breakfast?” 

“Very early,” says that gentleman, uncompro- 
misingly. 

“Well, you can breakfast at any time you ring,” fin- 
ishes Mrs. Henderson, and looking down to conceal her 
evident delight that he does not wish to take break- 
fast with Viva. 

. “You will send for me, then, when you are ready? 
Good-night,” says Viva as she leaves the room. 

It is very late when she wakes the next morning; 
she is surprised at herself. She makes a hurried toilet 
and goes down to the dining-room. 

“ Is Mrs. Henderson up ?” she asks the servant. 

“ She has not sent for her maid yet.” 

Then there is no hurry, after all. The dining-room 
is one of the prettiest in the house; it opens on a wide 
balcony, shut in by stained-glass windows, in which are 
arranged potted plants. In the corners of the balcony 
there are tall palms; it is, in fact, a sort of impromptu 
conservatory. A hammock swings invitingly at one 
end, and there are large luxurious chairs scattered 
about, Viva goes through the French window after 


174 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

she has breakfast, and saunters toward the hammock. 
There is something so refreshing about geraniums, she 
thinks, as she piles up the cushions and lazily swings to 
and fro, inhaling the perfume of the flowers; they are 
not too sweet, like tuberoses, or too spicy, like chrys- 
anthemums, but just delightful. The sun, shining 
through the red window, makes her skin look very 
transparent and her hair as if it be on fire. She clasps 
her hands behind her head and closes her eyes. It is 
the first moment she has been at peace since that awful 
night at Riverside. If they would never send for her, 
only let her swing idly on forever in the sweet, fragrant 
morning sunshine! Mr. Henderson stands in the door 
of his study, which also opens on the balcony, and 
watches her with undisguised admiration. He hates to 
spoil the picture, but finally goes toward her. 

“ Pray do not let me disturb you,” as she attempts to 
rise. “ Please remain as you are.” 

She sinks back, preferring her present position to the 
struggle of rising. Hammocks are very pleasant when 
one is once in them, she remembers, but getting in and 
out of them plays havoc with one’s dignity. He is 
looking at her very hard, and she is angry with herself 
when she feels a flush creep over her face, at which he 
is intensely amused. She begins to speak of his wife, 
to attract his attention from herself, and it is her turn 
to be amused at the magic effect the subject produces 
upon him. 

“Ah, yes,” he says, “I came to speak to you about 
Mrs. Henderson. To be quite candid with you, she 
will see a great deal more of society in the future, as I 
intend to enter politics, and my wife must entertain my 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 175 

friends — as much as her health permits, at least. But, 
you see, unfortunately she does not care for literature 
or politics at all, and I want you to cultivate her 
taste, and explain delicately to her matters of public 
interest.” 

“ Pardon me, but it seems to me that you would be 
more capable of doing that,” she says, a frown knitting 
her brow. “ Or if you would explain this to her, and 
suggest to her the line of study you wish her to pursue, 
it would make things simpler.” 

He shrinks at the idea, and his eyes droop to his 
rather well-shaped hands. 

“What a coward he is!” thinks Viva. “If he does 
succeed in politics, his admiring friends will fail to see 
him as he is, and will call him ‘Henderson the Prudent.’ 
Yet how he would revel in having the whiphand over 
one, if he dared possess himself of it. I must take care 
to hold the reins in this establishment myself.” 

“You see,” he says, looking at her, at last, “it would 
be difficult to tell a refined woman, and one’s wife, that 
she is not educated to suit one. No, I leave it all to 
your excellent discretion, and rely upon your tact not 
to mention my wishes in the matter at all. I would 
suggest that you begin with the English poets — read 
aloud to her and try to interest her. Do your best. 
Try Tennyson to begin with ; ladies all affect Tennyson, 
I believe. You will do very nicely, I am sure.” 

A servant appears in the doorway: “ Mrs. Henderson 
is ready to receive Miss Van Velssler.” 

“Very well, Wilkes; and you need not return with a 
message. Miss Van Velssler will go herself at once,” 
and Mr. Henderson disappears into his study with a 


176 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

rapidity that would have done credit to a transforma- 
tion scene at the Casino. 

Viva gets up, stretches out her arms and laughs out- 
right for the first time since Charlie’s death. 

“He is as transparent as glass,” she thinks. “The 
servant must not return, for fear he might incidentally 
mention that the lord of the mansion was with me. If 
I am asked, I am expected to have ‘tact and discretion’ 
enough to lie — it is for my daily bread,” and then she 
ceases to see the ridiculous side of it, and throws her 
head back haughtily and stands looking thoughtfully 
at a bright geranium for a moment, then goes slowly 
to the blue room. 

“Good morning,” she says, as she enters. “I hope 
you are better to-day.” 

“Oh, I am never very much better,” fretfully. 

“ That is too bad. Let me read to you; perhaps you 
will forget yourself,” going toward the book shelves 
and throwing back the blue silk curtain. She is amused 
at the collection she sees; evidently it was selected by 
Mr. Henderson. She passes over Ossian, Homer and 
the old writers; hesitates at Max Muller, and finally 
takes down “ The Idyls of the King.” Delicately as 
possible, she explains the superstitions and legends of 
the reign of Arthur, and begins. Mrs. Henderson 
listens for half an hour; Viva thinks she is making 
fine progress, but as she turns several pages at once 
and lays the book on her lap to find the place again, 
Mrs. Henderson says: 

“I have almost decided upon it.” 

Viva looks up inquiringly. Mrs. Henderson con- 
tinues: 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. I77 

“ I hope that you have some idea of dress. Mr. 
Henderson’s sister has been staying with us, and she 
not only did not have a ray of style about her, but could 
not grasp an idea about the fashions, when it was ex- 
plained to her. I do not know whether to have my 
brown broadcloth trimmed in mink or Persian lamb. 
The mink is very pretty, but they are wearing black 
and brown so much. What do you think ? There, 
reach me the Fashion Journal.^ and let me find the place. 
Here it is — read me what Worth says about fur-trimmed 
garments.” 

So Tennyson goes by the board. 

12 


CHAPTER XVI. 


About a week after Viva’s arrival, she is surprised to 
find Mr. Henderson in the dining-room when she goes 
to breakfast. She has not seen him for several days, 
as he has dined with his wife in her boudoir, and he 
never comes home to luncheon. 

“ I hope you will take pity on me and let me have 
breakfast with you this morning. Miss Van Velssler,” 
he says, turning from the window. I was very indo- 
lent, and positively could not force myself to get up 
when they woke me this morning.” 

She only says good morning and does not reply to 
his rather far-fetched apology for breakfasting with her. 
When she is alone, the servant arranges a place at the 
head of. the table for her, with the coffee urn in front of 
her. He scarcely knows how to arrange the plates now 
— he wonders if it is the correct thing to place the 
companion at the head of the table when the master of 
the house is present. An ingenious idea strikes him ; 
he will place the dishes as though he thought three 
were to be served — as if he expected Mrs. Henderson — 
and the responsibility will fall upon some one else. 

“Will you pour the coffee. Miss Van Velssler?” says 
Mr. Henderson, pulling out the chair at the head of the 
table. 

“Certainly, if you wish,” she says, and arranges the 
cups, sends his to him, then rises and takes her seat at 
the side of the table. 

17S 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 179 

“That is a mistake!” he says. “When two people 
are at the same table they should sit opposite to each 
other. The effect is better.” 

“ I prefer this,” she says, looking at him in haughty 
surprise. 

“Then that settles it, if you prefer it — your wish 
shall be law,” with gallantry she fails to appreciate. 

He fancies he has, perhaps, gone too far, and hast- 
ens to do away with a bad impression by speaking of 
his wife. 

“ And how are you progressing with English liter- 
ature?” he asks, smiling. 

“ Not at all; it is too difficult. I fear I will have to 
resign my position. You will pardon my speaking 
plainly, I do it in justice to you; but your wife posi- 
tively refuses to have anything but the fashion journals 
read to her, and as I am not her teacher, but her com- 
panion and here to amuse her, as she mildly hinted to 
me yesterday, she reads what she pleases and I am 
powerless; I cannot keep her in, as I would a naughty 
child who had not learned its lesson.” 

He taps his spoon against his cup in evident annoy- 
ance. 

“But, my dear Miss Van Velssler, you cannot expect 
everything at once. You must have patience, patience. 
You must cultivate her taste, till she grows anxious to 
learn. ” 

“I fear I’ll offend you when I tell you it is impossi- 
ble to cultivate a taste for literature in a grown person 
who is in perfect ignorance of the most well-known 
English and American poets. I told her the story of 
‘Ruy Bias’ yesterday, as she would not permit me to 


l8o NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

read it to her, and she seemed interested for a time, 
especially in the style of dress in that day, but she got 
French and Spanish history so mixed that I was 
unable to set her straight on the subject. If I can 
make you understand this thoroughly, I feel that I 
can stay; if not, I must resign the position, for I know 
that you will be disappointed in the outcome.” 

“Well, well, it is too bad!” and he leans his head on 
his hands and the lines about his mouth harden. 

“ He looks better in such a mood,” thinks Viva, look- 
ing at him critically. “ He looks more like there was 
some hope of his being a statesman. His assumed 
gallantries to his wife make^him look contemptible, and 
his extreme pleasantries when she is not by are un- 
desirable.” 

He pushes back his plate, gets up and walks up and 
down the room. Finally he stops in front of her. 

“I cannot think of permitting you to leave us,” he 
says. “ If any one can succeed in the undertaking, 
you can. Do your best and I will be satisfied. But you 
have brightened my home so much during your stay,” 
looking at her intently, “and you cannot know how 
grateful I am to you. Do not mention going away 
again, I beg of you,” taking her hand, before she can 
prevent, and bowing low over it. 

“ I simply wanted you to understand and know what 
to expect; there is no other reason why I should not 
remain,” she says coldly, and taps the bell for the 
servant. 

Mr. Henderson is therefore compelled to go around 
to the other side of the table. 

There is something about him that savors of the 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. i8i 

dramatic. He might have made a very good lawyer, 
if nature had not intended him for an actor, she thinks. 
To the servant who answers the bell: “See if Mrs. 
Henderson is ready for me to go to her, ” and she leaves 
the room as the servant does, thus avoiding a further 
tete-a-tete with the master of the house. 

Several months have dragged themselves monoto- 
nously by. Very disagreeable months they have been, 
Viva thinks, as she sits in the hot little den of Mrs. 
Henderson, beside a huge lamp, reading aloud the latest 
things in summer gowns. 

“ But what is the use of having anything,” says Mrs. 
Henderson, plaintively, “ if one is to spend the summer 
here ? The idea of those tiresome conventions keeping 
Henry so busy all summer is a shame, and I simply 
would not enjoy anything without him.” 

“Yes,” thinks Viva, “that is the redeeming point in 
her make-up, she really loves him — that is, if such a 
selfish, exacting passion can be called love. Perhaps 
that is the reason he has so much patience with her — 
that and the plan of having her make her will in his 
favor. Funny though if she should die before her 
father and he, Mr. Henderson, should not get the money 
after all! I wonder if he ever should come into it, will 
he think it paid for the sacrifice of his manhood and 
the best years of his life ? His youth has been sold into 
slavery of the most galling kind.” 

“Do you catch the idea, Miss Van Velssler?” says 
Mrs. Henderson sharply. “ Or do you think* the rib- 
bons would be the most effective?” 

“The ribbons, decidedly,” says Viva, for she has not 
the vaguest idea of what the alternative is. 


i 82 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


“ I think so too,” with a sigh of relief. 

“May I come in, dear?” says the loving husband, at 
the door. 

“Yes, come in, Henry. I wonder you can spare a 
moment to your wife from those absurd meetings and 
such nonsense.” 

“ I wanted you to know I thought of you, dear, in 
Cincinnati to-day, and so I bought this for you,” lay- 
ing on her lap a velvet case containing a necklace set 
with eight large pearls. 

She looks at it silently; not a word of thanks. 

“ Do you like it, dear ?” leaning over her with his most 
dramatic air, as though her words would be a life-and- 
death matter to him. 

“ Y-e-s, I like it, but you know I prefer diamonds to 
anything.” 

“ I know, love, but you have a diamond necklace, 
and I thought this would suit my fair-haired girl so 
well.” 

She looks up and smiles like a pleased child. She 
does not mean to be actually rude, but it is sweetest 
incense to her soul for him to prostrate himself before 
her, especially in the presence of a third person. 

“There, you smile; I am repaid for my trouble. I 
must say good night to you soon, and go to work ; I 
will be up very late to-night,” he says, sinking into a 
chair and leaning his head tiredly against the cushions. 
“ My stenographer was ill this afternoon, and I let him 
off, and I have to prepare for the press several copies 
of my speech before the convention to-morrow, which, 
v.^ith my other work, will keep me up so late that it will 
hardly be worth the trouble of going to bed at all.” 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S CLOVE. 183 

“ If you will dictate your speech to me, I will take it 
down and prepare the copies for you,” says Viva. 

“ Eh ?” he raises himself in his chair and looks at her 
in surprise. “ Do you mean to say you understand 
shorthand ?” 

“ Yes, it was in the business course at my alma 7nater., 
and auntie had me take everything.” 

“By Jove, you are a wonderful girl. Miss Van Vels- 
sler. Next you v/ill be telling me that you can keep my 
books for me.” 

“I can,” she says with a laugh. “Have I not just 
told you I took the business course ?” 

“What a wife you would make for a young lawyer!” 
he says, with keen admiration ringing in his voice. 

“Henry,” says his wife in a tone of reproach, “I 
thought you did not like brilliant or progressive women.” 

“ I do not, dear. I might admire them, but I could 
only love a woman who is the exact reverse of the 
feminine horror — a strong-minded woman. I want my 
wife to know only how to be true and to make me 
happy,” leaning forward, and as her hands are too far 
off he catches one of the blue ribbons that flow from her 
belt and kisses it. 

He meets Viva’s look of contempt almost defiantly. 
Mrs. Henderson returns to her fashion-plates thor- 
oughly content with her lot in life. 

“How do you do?” says Mr. Thrible, the junior 
member of the firm of Henderson, Ander & Co., as he 
enters the room. “ Wilkes said you were in here, so I 
preceded my card and came right up,” with a laugh. 

“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Thrible; you have 
almost deserted us lately,” says Mrs. Henderson. “ But 


1 84 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


if you are going to talk convention, I refuse to shelter 
you; you will have to repair to the library.” 

“ Only a moment, Mrs. Henderson. I brought your 
husband some dispatches from the chairman of the 
Democratic convention, whom we have the honor to 
entertain to-morrow.” Turning to Mr. Henderson, he 
says, “ I heard that you only stopped a moment at the 
office on your way from the train this evening, so went 
over after dinner, and found these just being delivered.” 
He hands them to Mr. Henderson and takes a seat near 
Mrs. Henderson’s sofa. 

Mr. Henderson takes the dispatches, looks over them, 
frowns and seats himself at the tiny desk, with its silver 
appointments, and says: 

“Miss Van Velssler, were you in earnest when you 
offered to assist me to-night? You cannot know what 
a service it will be if you will take down some tele- 
grams and notes for me.” 

“ Certainly I will, if you have a- great deal of patience, 
and will go slowly at first. I fear I am horribly out of 
practice.” 

They work steadily for half an hour. Then he leans 
back and rests his head on his hand. 

“I don’t know how to answer this,” he says wearily. 
“ Let me think.” 

Viva glances at the pair at the opposite end of the 
room. Mrs. Henderson has propped herself up with 
her cushions; her face is flushed to a delicate pink ; 
she is talking animatedly and she looks almost pretty. 

“ You must not pay me such pretty compliments,” her 
high-pitched voice rings out, since the other two are 
still; “I do not believe you would rather be here.” 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 185 

Viva looks at them with renewed interest. 

“Can it be,” she thinks, “that Mrs. Henderson cares 
for the attentions of gentlemen ? Well, after this I am 
prepared for anything — 7vho would have thought it ?” 

“I am very deeply indebted to you,” says Mr. Hen- 
derson to Viva, folding up part of his papers and giv- 
ing them to Wilkes, who has answered the bell, to take 
to the telegraph office. 

“I am pleased to have been of service to you,” she 
says carelessly. 

“Come here, Henry, I want to ask you something,” 
says Mrs. Henderson. “What was that Judge Berry 
and Miss Van Velssler were talking about last night ? I 
have been trying to tell Mr. Thrible. Miss Van Vels- 
sler said she did not agree with Judge Berry, but as so 
many of the leading Democratic senators did, she sup- 
posed it was right. And he laughed and said she had 
the true Democratic spirit to stand by the platform of 
the grand old party whether he thought so or not. 
What is the Democratic platform ?” 

“ Don’t bother your pretty little head about such 
things — you will grow old before your time. Leave 
such dry subjects to me,” he answers. 

“ He does not like me to take an interest in his politi- 
cal affairs,” she says, looking up at Mr. Thrible. 

“Whereupon he shows more sense than one would 
give him credit for,” thinks Viva. “ Heaven help his 
‘political affairs,’ if you chose to interfere with them!” 

It has been several months since Mr. Thrible called 
with the dispatches. Mrs. Henderson has grown tired 
of her new toy, Viva; it has begun to dawn upon her 
that Viva is trying to teach her, and she resents it 


1 86 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

bitterly. She has also grown very jealous of Viva. 
Mr. Henderson has had to bring all his powers of 
diplomacy into play several times to prevent a climax. 
Viva has seen the drift of things for some time, but has 
made up her mind to remain passive till the blow falls; 
that the end is not far off, she is confident. Mrs. Hen- 
derson has declared her intention of spending her morn- 
ing alone to-day, and Viva has concluded to spend hers 
in shampooing her hair. There is no sun in her room 
in the morning, so she decides to go down to the bal- 
cony off the library and dining-room to dry her hair. 
Mrs. Henderson is in her own den, Mr. Henderson is at 
his office, so the whole of that part of the lower floor is 
deserted — she has full possession. 

• Last night Mrs. Henderson asked her husband if he 
thought Viva pretty. “7 think a woman pretty who 
has red hair?” he asked in astonishment. 

“ But Judge Berry says her hair is a rare Titian shade 
— a real chestnut auburn,” she persisted. 

“It is redj" he maintained firmly, and the storm was 
averted. 

Viva is in the hammock ; she has spread some towels 
on the floor for her hair to sweep over as she gently 
rocks to and fro. Ever and anon she ceases reading 
and shakes out her damp hair. The hot sun shining 
through the heavy dark glass has a drowsy effect on 
her. The book falls to the floor, and she drifts into a 
delightful state of half-sleeping dreaminess. Finally 
that something which always makes us conscious of the 
presence of a human being causes her to look up 
with a start. Mr. Henderson is standing very near 
her. A flush of annoyance covers her face. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 187 

“ It is unusual to see you at home this time of the 
day. Has anything happened ?” she says, a little 
crossly. 

He does not appear to notice her question. She 
gathers up her towels and book; shakes back her hair, 
which is dry now and floats around her a crisp, per- 
fumed mass, and almost covers her, and is about to 
twist it up. 

“ Don’t,” he says almost involuntarily. “ It is a pity 
to hide your greatest charm. You have the most beau- 
tiful hair I ever saw,” going suddenly up to her and 
lifting a part of it to his lips. 

She is too astonished to speak at first. He is still 
holding the strand of hair in his hand. His head is 
bent. She clinches her little hands tightly, and throws 
his hand from her with such force, that it brings the 
slender riding-whip he is holding against his cheek 
with a blow that leaves a tiny red stripe. 

“ How dare you ?” she says. 

“ Surely you will pardon it when I — ” 

They both become aware that Mrs. Henderson is 
standing in the door of the study, her eyes ablaze with 
wrath and indignation. Viva looks at him scornfully 
and goes through the dining-room window to her own 
room. 

“Well,” she thinks, going up to the glass, “the little 
play has run its course; the lights are about to go out, 
and the orchestra is waiting ta rehearse the music for 
the next performance. Ough!” and she brushes 
viciously the lock of hair he kissed. “ I suppose it will 
be suggested to me that my resignation is in order, and 
I am almost glad of it.” 


i88 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


At luncheon she sees no one, and afterward returns 
to her room in the expectation that something will hap- 
pen. About four o’clock the parlor-maid appears with 
a hastily scribbled note: 

“Will Miss Van Velssler please come to the library? 

Mr. Henderson will only detain her a moment.” 

“ Now, ‘lay on, Macduff,’” she thinks as she descends. 

Mr. Henderson is standing at the window, with his 
back to her as she enters. He affects not to be aware 
of her presence for a moment, but .she knows that he 
is from the nervous way he crumples a geranium he 
holds in his hand. 

“You sent for me, I believe?” she says question- 
ingly. 

He turns slowly, as though to put off the evil moment 
as long as possible. She notices, with shame, that the 
tiny red stripe is still visible on his cheek. 

“Yes, I sent for you. You were very good to come.” 

She is leaning against the back of a chair, and looks 
at him mercilessly, determined not to assist him at all. 
He bites his lips, a schoolboy trick he resorts to when 
he is embarrassed or trying to conceal emotion of any 
kind. 

“You see. Miss Van Velssler,” he begins desperately, 
with a kind of do-the-deed-ere-the-purpose-cool air, 
“ my wife is a great invalid, and must be humored in 
everything. She has taken an odd fancy recently that 
you are not a friend to her and nothing can persuade her 
otherwise, and — ” he seems to receive an inspiration, 
for he visibly brightens and adds: “As we will prob- 
ably go away for several months — or at least my wife 
will be away so long, I want to leave her with her rela- 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 189 

tives, as it would be too exciting for her to be with me 
during the election — our pleasant intercourse will be 
brought to an end.” 

She looks at him closely to see if he means this for 
sarcasm, but finds him innocent. 

“Yes, and when is the time set for the termination 
of the same ?” she asks. 

She knows that he means at once, and she intends to 
go at once, but she takes a malicious delight in affect- 
ing not to understand him and torturing him. 

“We leave the city next Tuesday,” he says, coming 
toward her and into the full light. 

His face looks drawn and hard; deep lines are about 
his mouth; she almost has it in her heart to feel sorry 
for him. He is evidently trying to say something to 
her; she has a mild curiosity to know what it is. 

“ Before you go, I want to ask your pardon for my 
conduct this morning, and the scene which, unfortu- 
nately, my wife witnessed.” She tries to stop him with 
a deprecating gesture, but he continues: “Need I tell 
you I have explained it to her and exonerated you 
from all blame?” 

She wonders if he dared exonerate her to his wife. 

“Will you believe me,” he asks, “and give me your 
hand ?” 

“ Please do not say anything more about it,” she says, 
giving him the tips of her fingers. 

She does not say whether she believes him or not, 
and he does not press the matter, only he grows a shade 
paler. 

“ That is all, I think. If you will excuse me then — ” 

“One moment,” he says, as she reaches the door. 


1 90 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

“ If you decide to take another position, will you un- 
hesitatingly use my name as reference?” 

“Thank you,” she says a trifle haughtily, “but I can 
furnish those which were satisfactory to you.” 

She turns away, and he sinks wearily into the chair 
she had leaned against. She goes to her room and 
hastily packs her things. The next morning early she 
starts out to find a boarding place. She determines to 
be very economical, as she does not know how long it 
may be before she finds anything else to do, so she 
passes by the houses in the fashionable quarter and 
decides to try a house on West Walnut Street which 
was advertised in the morning paper. 

How hot, dusty, and unlovely this end of the street is! 
she thinks. A maid with her sleeves rolled up and soot 
spots all over her face, after a long time answers the 
bell. “ The lady of the house” finally appears, with 
numerous apologies for the disorderly condition of the 
parlor and halls, her own get-up, and everything in 
general. Viva arranges to take a modest room in the 
third story at a very reasonable rate, and takes posses- 
sion in the afternoon. 

She sends word to Mrs. Henderson when she is leav- 
ing, but that lady is in the throes of a headache and is 
not visible. Mr. Henderson is at his office; so she 
departs with no one to bid her good-by, as she arrived 
with no one to welcome her. 

The weather is still very warm, and every room in the 
boarding-house has a screen door, with a spring that 
bangs it shut every time any one goes in or out. It 
sounds as if the house is being bombarded when the 
children play and run through the halls. Viva is not a 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 191 

nervous person, but the noise nearly distracts her. It 
is useless to speak of it; it continues just the same. 
She sees very little of the people in the house, and they 
are mostly quiet and retiring. The women, of course, 
meet, criticise her gowns, wonder what “ she is doing 
here, and who she is?” The men are plodding business 
men, and hardly look at her. The youth who sits next 
to her at the table, and who strides into the dining-room 
at dinner, on an average of twice a week, resplendent 
in dress suit, with flowing black tie, and a watchchain 
clear across his vest, attempts conversation once or 
twice, but finds her not very responsive, and subsides 
into silence also. It is all very trying — the inattention 
at the table, the noise, the dismantled condition of the 
halls and parlors. She wonders why it is that boarding- 
houses always seem to have the chairs and tables turned 
out into the halls for a thorough cleaning, which never 
ends, and yet everything is always so depressingly 
dirty. She is so fond of having everything around her 
dainty, and is so easily affected by her surroundings, 
that she lapses into a state of dull, listless misery. 
She searches the papers diligently for advertisements 
for teachers, companions, or governesses, and once or 
twice puts in an advertisement herself, but all to no 
avail. Once her hopes run very high. She receives a 
letter from the postmaster at Washington, saying there 
is a letter for her there which is held for postage; 5 he 
sends for it and waits impatiently its arrival ; perhaps 
it may contain good news, she tells herself. When it 
comes, it is an invitation to a Hammer College enter- 
tainment, sent by one of the girls who was a freshman 
during her last year. Tears of bitter disappointment 


192 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

rush to her eyes as she reads it ; she did not know how 
much she had counted upon it till then. She goes to 
several of the schools and applies for a position as a 
teacher. Most of them tell her their chairs are filled, 
and they have a long list of names on file for the 
first vacancy. One principal acknowledges wanting a 
teacher for the preparatory department, but she is filled 
with bitter and righteous indignation when she finds 
Viva did not receive her diploma, and sweeps from the 
room with great dignity. Viva takes her paintings to 
the shops, but if she manages to sell them at all it is 
for so little that it hardly pays for the materials. 
Several pictures are her father’s that she has finished 
and offered for sale, and she knows them to be excel- 
lent; but the dealers shrug their shoulders and ask her 
where she has exhibited her work, and say the financial 
world is in such a condition that they do not dare run 
the risk, of handling the work of a new artist. She 
remembers that some of the stories that she used to 
write for the college paper were very much compli- 
mented by some of the faculty, and ’Fessor used to tell 
her she ought to send them to some of the magazines. 
She hunts up some of the MSS., retouches and strength- 
ens them and goes to the leading newspaper offices. 
They all say: 

“We get our short stories from a syndicate, and 
every place on the paper is filled. We have the best 
material that can be had in the country, from the 
printers up; the city is overrun with writers and we 
have our pick. No, our fashion and society editresses 
are all that could be desired. We are sorry, madam, 
but—” 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 193 

She is getting very desperate; her money is fast 
giving out, and she is getting to the end of her line. 
She has written to every one she can think of who 
would probably be able to suggest anything to her, but 
those who answered at all either treated it as a huge 
joke (it is so much easier to pretend not to understand 
than to write sympathetically) or said they knew of 
nothing. 

The maid comes to her room, conveying the idea she 
is being badly used in having to climb the stairs, to 
announce that a lady wishes to see her. 

“ Did she send no name ?” asks Viva, who is painting 
a picture she feels sure will sell, and hates to be inter- 
rupted. 

“No, she never,” says the maid, disappearing down 
the steps, thinking it unnecessary to wait and see if an 
answer is to be taken back. 

Viva gets up, takes off her paint-apron and tries to 
remove the smell of turpentine from her hands with 
rosewater, and goes to the parlor. 

“ Well, young lady, if you haven’t given me a chase,” 
said Puss, springing toward her. 

“ Puss!” says Viva, catching her in her arms. “ How 
delighted I am to see you! Where did you come 
from ?” 

“From Mr. Henderson’s office directly,” says that 
young lady. 

* “What!” 

“ I lost your address — did not discover it till I arrived 
— so had to wire Jen (or it. I received her dispatch at 
breakfast and struck out for your abode on Third 
Avenue. The butler said you had not been there for 
13 


194 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

ages. I informed him he did not know what he was 
talking about, and sent up my card to Mrs. Henderson. 
She asked me to go to her room — she was not equal to 
coming downstairs (this after I had refused to leave 
without seeing her). She was inclined to inspect me 
till I put up my eyeglass, confiscated from my beloved 
brother for such occasions, and looked her down. She 
swore by the beard of her grandfather she did not know 
your address, whereupon I demanded to know where 
her husband’s office was, as I knew you must have left 
some address so that your admiring friends could find 
you. Don’t think she relished the idea of my seeing her 
pet lamb; may have been imagination on my part, of 
course. Any way, she could not back down then, so had 
to tell me where I could find him. I jumped into my 
cab (item i, telegrams, two dollars; item 2, cab, three 
dollars — charged to V. Van Velssler) and drove to the 
gallant Henderson’s den. He was very nice, quite so; 
wrote down your present address for me in case I 
should forget it; gave me this letter for you, which 
came several days ago, and said he had intended to 
bring or write his apologies for its not having been for- 
warded, but has been away and his clerk did not know 
where to send it; helped me into my cab and gracefully 
bowed me off — and here I am.” 

“You are the same old Hammer College girl,” laughs 
Viva. “ You have not changed a bit.” 

“Good heavens!” says Miss Griswold, “you wouldn’t 
have me take to caps and spectacles in a little over two 
years, would you ? I confess the wear and tear of two 
seasons is a good deal ; but, give the devil his due, even 
society is not so bad as that,” 


NAVAL CADET CAELYLE'S GLOVE. 195 

“What is the news? What do you hear from the old 
girls?” 

“ I do not hear very often from any of them. You 
know that Kathleen Lenford is married, which, by the 
way, reminds me. I have a message for you from Fan- 
nie Bomar. She is going to be married three weeks 
from to-day, and she wants you to go and stay with her 
and help her with the wedding festivities. She vows 
no one can decorate the church or drape her veil to 
suit her but you. I wanted to be there — I have just 
come from New York — but it is impossible; my best 
friend is very, very ill and I must go to her. You have 
heard me speak of her, Nellie Beauford. She was to be 
my room-mate at Hammer, but they feared she was too 
delicate to go to boarding school. I must be at home 
by to-morrow night, or at least at my aunt’s house, 
in the southern part of the State — I have no home — an 
awful thing, isn’t it? I hate living around with rela- 
tives'. I almost wish — but no, I don’t, anything is better 
than a stepmother. Fannie came to see me just before 
I left, and charged me to pack you off at once. In 
the dim recesses of my trunk I have a huge document 
from her, which I promised to deliver to you. And I 
say, Van — I have a return ticket; my brother got it for 
me when he thought I was going back. I don’t care, 
since he was seized with an unwonted spell of generosity 
and presented it to me. So I’ll turn it over to you — 
you might just as well use it, for it will be thrown away 
if you don’t.” 

“ That is very sweet of you to think of it; if you are 
sure you are not going, back, I will use it. But whom 
is Fannie going to marry ? Any one I know ?” 


196 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

“ Denton Overton.” 

“What?” says Viva, rising to her feet. “Whom did 
you say ?” 

“ Denton Overton. Know him? Not much loss, if 
you don’t.” 

“I have known him all my life. He is from my old 
home in South Carolina, though I met him long before 
I went to live with auntie.” 

“You seem very much surprised; as the marriage 
ceremony says, do you know any reason ‘why these 
two may not lawfully be joined together’ in holy wed- 
lock ?” 

“ N-o. Of course not.” 

“ Do you like him?” asks Puss. 

“Y-e-s. Well, I can hardly say. I have not seen 
him for years, you see — not since I went home time be- 
fore the last,” she adds sadly. 

“ Here is your letter I have been keeping all this time. 
Open it. I rather like the writhig. Looks strong and 
manly.” 

“ I have seen it somewhere, but I do not remember 
it,” says Viva, as she tears open the envelope. 

“Dear Miss Van Velssler,” she reads, “I have just 
been to Riverside to get your Louisville address from 
Dev. I will be in the city on the eighth. May I see you? 
If you feel that you can be bothered with me, just send 
a line to the Galt House; if I do not hear from you, 
I’ll understand, and try not to mind it very much. I 
am on my way to New York, and sail for England the 
fourteenth. Somehow I could not bear to go without 
at least trying to see you again. 

“ Yours very%truly, 

“ Leonard Clive Cravens.” 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 197 

She hands the letter to Puss, who is vainly trying to 
repress her curiosity. 

“ And when you did not answer it, he thought you 
would not see him. What a shame! I think it is posi- 
tively wanton in people to be so careless about for- 
warding mail. Let me see — why this is the fourteenth ; 
he is now on his way to England. I heard a great deal 
about him from Jen when she visited Dot, and I grew 
to take quite a motherly interest in him.” 

“ I am sorry I did not see him. He was very, very 
kind to me when I was there — especially when I heard 
— you know.” 

“Yes, dear, I understand,” pressing her hand. 

The boarders pass by the door, taking a great interest 
in the unwonted sight of seeing Viva receive a caller. 

“I must be off,” says Puss. “They will think some 
one has stolen me for a mascot ; I have been gone since 
early morn, you know.” 

“ Can you not telephone them where you are and stay 
to dinner with me ?” 

“ No, but I am going to take you with me. Fly and 
get your hat — your gown is all that is necessary. The 
hotels are deserted, and our party is in travelling garb. 
I am with a young cousin and his wife; we will bring 
you home, after we have taken in a concert, theatre or 
anything we can find. Hurry! I shudder to think what 
my cab bill is by this, time.” 

“All right, I haste me on wings of economy,” says 
Viva, disappearing up the steps. 

A few days later she starts for New York. Fannie 
meets her at the station and carries her off in triumph. 

“I am so glad you came, Van! I have been trying 


198 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

to find where you were all summer. I know of no one 
so capable of settling the chaos and confusion of a full 
blowout wedding as you. I hope you will like mamma. 
I must warn you she is a little difficult, just at first. 
Do you know my cherished plan is to have you stay 
with her after I am gone? Her right hand is crippled, 
you know, and she will need a secretary when I am no 
more.” 

“How lovely it is to be with you again,” says Viva. 
“ Positively, seeing Puss and you so close together, and 
hearing so much old Hammer gossip and slang, makes 
me feel real young and giddy again.” 

“Now,” says Fannie, as they enter the beautiful 
home on Fifth Avenue in the early twilight, “ we just 
have time to dress for dinner. This is mamma’s day at 
home; she receives in and out of season, and if we go 
through this way we will be able to avoid the belated 
callers. My room is across the .hall from this,” as she 
opens a door, and motions Viva to enter. “ Oh, I for- 
got, you don’t know where to find the lights. It seems so 
funny to see you anywhere but at Hammer. There! 
If your trunk does not come in time, you need not 
mind, as we will dine alone.” 

“ Then I will be ready in a short time and will not 
await the sweet will of the transfer people,” says Viva. 

Viva stands motionless a few moments after the 
door closes upon Fannie, and stares at the gas-jet. 

“ How strange that I should come to assist at Denton 
Overton’s marriage! What would papa think of it? I 
wonder if it is an unwise step — if after all these years, 
if he could possibly — bah! Viva Van Velssler, you are 
the personification of vanity. Fannie seems very happy ; 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 199 

I wonder if he — Miss Van Velssler, you have wasted ten 
minutes in trying to pry into your neighbor’s affairs,” 
she says sternly, looking at herself in the glass, and 
then hurriedly makes herself presentable for dinner. 

“Are you ready?” says Fannie, tapping at her door. 
“Ah, not quite, I see. Well, I must go down; he is 
here,” laughing. “ As soon as you can, come down to 
the room at the left of the stairs.” 

Viva rather lingers over her dressing after that, but 
the plunge has to be taken sooner or later, and she may 
just as well get it over and done with, she very wisely 
concludes, so pinning a big pink rose she finds in a vase 
on her bureau on her breast, which brightens her gown 
very much, she goes down. As she enters the room, 
Fannie is fastening a flower in the coat of her fia7ic^. 
She steps back to see the effect, then standing on tip- 
toe kisses the bud. 

“It is the most perfect bud I ever saw,” she says. 
“Oh, Viva,” slightly confused, “I did not hear you 
enter. Come here and meet Denton ; you two must be 
friends.” 

“I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Overton,” 
says Viva, going up to him. 

“What?” said Fannie, “and you never told me?” 

“I have only just come, dear, and you never gave 
me an opportunity to speak while driving from the 
station.” 

Fannie laughs at this and, turning to Denton, says: 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had met, when I spoke 
of her?” 

“ I scarcely thought Miss Van Velssler would do me 
the honor of remembering me,” he says rather strainedly. 


200 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


“ Hum ! His temper has not improved a particle since 
last we met,” thinks Viva, as she sinks into a chair be- 
side a low table, upon which is the only light in the 
room, a lamp with a pink shade. 

She looks at him closely for the first time. She sees 
a man exceedingly tall; even she has to look up at him 
when she stands beside him. He has dark skin and a 
very brilliant color, which seems born of excitement 
rather than perfect health ; his cold, sharp eyes seem to 
pierce one through ; very thin lips, which close tightly 
over very pointed teeth. 

“ Then if you are satisfied with the stalls instead of the 
box, it is all right; I just stopped to let you know I did 
my best,” he says moving toward the door. 

“Oh, you are not going. Stay to dinner,” says Fan- 
nie, pleadingly. “ We are dining alone. Do.” 

“You forget I am in riding rig.” 

“We will pardon that,” lightly. “We have not 
dressed for dinner ourselves. You will stay, then?” 

“My dear girl,” he says crossly, “why can you not 
understand that it is impossible without my having to 
go into detail ?” 

“Well, then, why didn’t you say you had an engage- 
ment at first, instead of pleading ‘not dressed’?” says 
Fannie, as she tucks her arm in his and goes through 
the portieres with him. 

“ She will have need of that angelic temper, poor 
child,” thinks Viva, as she picks up a daintily bound 
copy of Byron from the table. 

The next few days they are busy with shopping and 
invitation lists, Mr. Overton having informed his 
fiancee by note the next day after Viva’s arrival that the 


Naval cadet carlyle's glove. 


201 


city is too beastly hot in the latter part of September 
to suit his delicate organization, he would betake 
himself where he could get a glimpse of the civilized 
beings of the world, namely, Lenox, for a couple of days. 
Mrs. Bomar raised her brows, when she heard it, in a 
way that usually makes those unfortunate enough to 
incur her displeasure quake in their boots, and gives 
one the impression that it would be interesting to an 
impartial observer to watch the meeting between her 
and her son-in-law-elect when he condescends to return 
to his allegiance. Fannie only laughed and said : “ No 

doubt the dear fellow was horribly bored; the clubs are 
deserted, and I have to be busy with milliners, et c cetera."' 
Viva was seriously disturbed, and waits with no small 
anxiety the outcome of his return. 

Fannie wanted to rearrange the whole bridal party 
and have Viva for bridesmaid, but she would not hear 
of it, and said, when Fannie persisted, that she had a 
more important part to play, to see that everything 
went off properly, and it would be cruel to ask her, with 
her shade of hair, to take an active part in a white and 
yellow wedding. 

“She is very sensible,’’ thought Mrs. Bomar, who 
was present. “Of course, she knows that Fannie is 
very fond of her, but she readily recognizes the differ- 
ence between them, and seems to have no ambition to 
thrust herself forward. Yes, I think I will ask her to 
remain as my secretary ; she will be invaluable at the tea- 
table at my ‘at homes,’ and to arrange dinners during 
the season.” 

Mrs. Bomar is a tall, commanding looking woman, 
with cold black eyes; she has not yielded to time any 


202 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLFT S CLOVE. 


more than she has to mortal ; she has refused to give up 
her youth, and her glossy black hair is as guiltless of 
gray and her step as elastic as at eighteen. She is a 
woman few people can love, but one who compels even 
her enemies to respect her. She has a splendid income, 
but she has made up her mind that it is time her only 
child is married and settled in life, and if Fannie had 
objected seriously, in all probability the wedding would 
have taken place just the same — Mrs. Bomar never lets 
anything interfere with her plans, once her mind is 
made up. She fancied Denton Overton when she met 
him at the seashore three years ago ; he was the first 
person she ever saw who dared oppose her, or who had 
conquered her in an argument, and she seemed to re- 
spect and like him all the better for it. She met him 
again in town during the season, and he visited the 
house, at first, more for the pleasure of the debates and 
discussions with her than as a victim to the charms of 
her daughter. In the long run, however, and in the 
more subtle, feminine game of hearts she beat him, and 
dragged him in triumph, through the latter part of last 
winter and this season at Newport, at her chariot 
wheels. Dutiful Fannie falls as much in love with hirti 
as possible, as she would have done with any one else 
•her mother might have selected. 

“ It would not do for Fannie to marry a weak man,” 
Mrs. Bomar had often thought. “ Some women, who 
have always been ruled, as she has, make fools of them- 
selves when you give them their heads.” 

Certainly no one could object to Mr. Overton on the 
score of weakness. He is Mrs. Bomar’s beau ideal of 
determination and firmness. Perhaps a less ardent 


JVArAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 203 

admirer might call it pigheadedness, but that is a mat- 
ter of taste. 

It is several days after Viva’s arrival. She is put- 
ting on her hat before her glass, thinking of taking a 
short walk before dinner. Fannie has driven to see 
her maid of honor about an important item of dress,, 
entirely overlooked before. Mrs. Bomar knocks at the 
door. 

“ I came to get you to assist me with these invitations 
we forgot the other day. Will you come to the recep- 
tion-room if you are not busy?” appearing not to notice 
that Viva has on her hat to go out. 

“In a few moments I will come,” says Viva. 
“Rather cool that,” she thinks bitterly, as the door 
closes, “ considering I am not her secretary yet. But I 
forget that I am here as decorator and director of 
her daughter’s wedding.” 

She feels remorseful when she sees the smiling face 
of Fannie looking at her from out a silver frame on the 
bureau. 

“She doesn’t know, dear child,” as she takes off her 
hat and goes down. 

The afternoon has slowly faded away, when Viva 
lays down her pen and says: “ That is all.” 

“ How very good of you to do it, my dear. I do not 
see how Fannie could possibly have got along with- 
out you,” says Mrs. Bomar sweetly — she is always 
very gracious when she has gained her point. “ What 
a firm, clear business hand you write,” with an encour- 
aging smile which would say, “ Hope for the best; you 
may have the proud honor of remaining here as my 
secretary.” Aloud she says: “ Now I will take a short 


204 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE, 

nap before dinner. I hope you will not mind being left 
alone; Fannie will be here soon, surely.” 

“ I will be very much interested in this book, Jerome’s 
last. Thank you,” says Viva. 

She is very much absorbed in the book, and does not 
hear the door open. 

“I expected to find Fannie here,” says Mr. Overton, 
standing before her. 

“ Oh, it is you. I did not hear you come in. Fannie 
has gone to see Miss Dupont about her — ” 

“Spare me the details,” he says. “ I have heard a 
vivid description so often that sometimes I think it 
must be all over and done with. Why people cannot 
get married quietly and decently without upsetting half 
the country, I do not see.” 

“I don’t know,” she says. “I think a full-dress 
church wedding is beautiful.” 

“Of course you do; so does every one but the vic- 
tims enjoy a free show like that. And they all go 
home feeling themselves done out of a good thing if 
something does not happen, if it is only the ring 
dropped, to croak over. I hope our friends will think 
they have got their money’s worth for the presents 
they send.” 

Viva laughs outright. 

“ That is so like you, Tanky,” using thoughtlessly the 
name abbreviated from cantankerous, that some of the 
men who used to frequent her father’s studio gave him. 
To her surprise, he does not grow angry, but turns to 
her with a smile that is almost sweet, and his face 
softens. 

“How that name brings back old scenes to me!” he 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 205 

sa)^s. “ I can see you flitting about in pinafores, dust- 
ing the armor and casts in the studio; and later how 
you used to reign over us all, the queen of that com- 
pany of royal good fellows; and that last year in 
Florida, when you informed us, with great dignity, that 
you were sixteen, and would wear your hair up in a cue 
henceforth. Do you remember the grand supper we 
gave in your honor that night?” 

“ Please do not recall Florida too vividly to my mind,” 
she says uneasily; she rather dreads this retrospective 
humor more than his ill-temper. 

“ It can only be a matter of mild curiosity now, of 
course, but I would like to know why you treated my 
letters with silent contempt. Nothing exasperates me so 
much as continued silence. If people will only speak 
out and say wherein I have offended them, or will quar- 
rel even, I can defend myself or hold my own; but to 
have all one’s reproaches, demands, apologies for un- 
known offences, received in silence, tries my temper 
more than anything I know.” 

“ I never received a letter from you since that sum- 
mer I was at Glenwood, though I probably would not 
have answered it any way,” says Viva. 

“ No, you probably would not. Yet I wrote to you 
repeatedly at Glenwood and Hammer; surely you got 
some of the letters?” 

“ Miss Hammer kept every letter she obtained pos- 
session of ; it was against the rules for the girls to write 
to any one but their families.” Then, thinking the 
subject is becoming too personal, she rises and says: 
“ Perhaps Fannie has returned and does not know you 
are here; I will go to her room and see,” 


2 o 6 naval cadet CARLYLE* S GLOVE. 

“ Pray do not put yourself to that trouble on my ac- 
count,” he says with mock politeness, as she goes 
through the portieres. 

Viva does not see much of Denton between the after- 
noon in the reception-room and the day of his wedding. 
They seem mutually to avoid each other, as far as they 
can do so without attracting attention to themselves. 
Viva is kept very busy. She gives her personal super- 
vision to the decorations; selects the palms and potted 
plants from the conservatory to be used at the church ; 
ties up the little satin boxes for the bride’s cake, and, 
in fact, does everything, to having the rice and old shoe 
to throw after the departing and happy pair. 

The wedding day has dawned fair and beautiful. 
Viva has assisted Fannie with her toilet; has fastened 
her veil with delicate sprays of lilies of the valley, and 
has expressed her admiration for the maid of honor 
and the bridesmaids, and has departed, with Mrs. 
Bomar, for the church. The ushers meet them at the 
door, offer their arms, and escort them up the aisle. A 
tiny page and flower-girl unfasten the ribbons for them 
to pass beyond to the seats reserved for the immediate 
friends of the bride. A murmur runs through the 
crowded church as they enter; surely now the long and 
patient wait will be rewarded. That is her mother. 
Has any one seen the presents? It is said they are 
handsomer than May Wilson’s, who married the Count 
de Rotho, you know. Is it true he is so very wealthy ? 
It is said his plantation in the South is a perfect palace, 
and filled with the rarest gems of art. Yes, it is gener- 
ally known he has a villanous temper — inherited it 
from his father, who used to beat his slaves nearly to 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 207 

death — an actual fact, my dear. Don’t mention I said 
so, of course. Poor Fannie’s looks have gone off won- 
derfully lately. They say she nearly cried her eyes 
out, when her mother told her she had to marry him. 
The Bomars have lost a great deal of money, hence the 
hurry, no doubt. Fannie would have infinitely pre- 
ferred Jack Goodard, but — have they come? 

So they gossip. The low murmur of voices fills the 
church. The organist is playing Rubinstein’s melody 
in F. She plays it to the end, repeats and lingers over 
the second part, and has to select a new piece. Every 
one has grown silent. A nervous strain seems to be 
over the whole assembly. Viva’s nerves are at the 
highest tension. What can cause the delay ? She looks 
frequently toward the door. The organist trembles on 
the last note, and almost mistakes the opening of a side 
door for the signal. Viva wonders what can have hap- 
pened; they were all ready when she left the house. 
At last the organ rolls forth the grand triumphal chords 
of the wedding march, and they enter. The brides- 
maids seem conscious of the delay and are very much 
frightened; they hold to their huge bouquets as though 
for support; the bride, on the arm of her uncle, is very 
pale, and does not see the vast crowd; her eyes are 
fixed on the vestry-room, from out which comes the 
groom. The responses cannot be heard above the low, 
trembling notes of the organ. At last it is over. Once 
more the organ peals forth the sweet chords; the bridal 
party turns away from the altar and comes down the cen- 
ter aisle. The bride holds in her white and gold prayer- 
book her marriage certificate. Every one seems to 
breathe freer; the bridesmaids look up at the ushers 


2 o 8 naval cadet CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

and smile, and even the page speaks to his little com- 
panion, the flower-girl, and gallantly assists her with her 
basket. The strain has vanished, and every one declares 
it “a beautiful wedding.” 

What is it in the cold, glittering eye of the groom that 
makes Viva shrink as he looks at her? She tries to 
shield herself from his view behind Mrs. Bomar, but all 
in vain; his eyes rest upon her face from the time he 
turns from the altar till he passes her. His shy little 
bride looks up timidly at him, but he does not see the 
glance. Viva shivers as she comes out into the warm 
night air, and draws her lace scarf about her bare 
arms. 

At the house all is a blaze of light and splendor. 
Several hundred friends are present. Viva goes up to 
Fannie as she stands with her newly made husband 
under the canopy of roses, and throws her veil back, 
and kissing her, offers her best wishes. Something in 
Denton’s face warns her not to speak to him, so she 
turns away without a word of congratulation and makes 
room for other friends who are pressing forward. 

It is an hour after the wedding; the bridal party have 
come from the supper-room ; Viva is standing in a bow 
window. Now that the excitement is over, she realizes 
how tired she is. She leans her head against the win- 
dow-frame and looks wearily out at the brilliant stars. 
Some one thrusts the lace curtains aside and steps 
through the window. 

“Ah, Miss Van Velssler, well met! You did not 
offer me your congratulations to-night,” and Denton 
Overton folds his arms and looks at her mockingly. 

It was not because I do not wish you every happi- 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 209 

ness, believe me,” going up to him and offering him 
her hand. 

“Ye gods, how women love empty form! Your con- 
gratulations to me can be but the veriest farce, and 
you know it. I wonder what whim of destiny kept you 
from being by my side to-night. I owe this to your 
father, I fancy.” 

“You are mistaken,” she says, foolishly arguing with 
him. “ My father never influenced, or tried to influence, 
me one particle in the matter. He left it to me to de- 
cide. You think he influenced me, because he was that 
rara avis — a father who did not try to push a dower, 
less daughter into a wealthy marriage. When he found 
that your wealth purchased his pictures for my sake 
instead of that of his beloved art, he refused to 
execute your orders. He despised money for money’s 
sake.” 

“ Do you deny that on that last day — ” 

“ The day you smashed everything on the mantel (all 
his favorite casts, when I left the room) he said, after 
I had told him my decision, that he thought I had de- 
cided wisely and well.” 

“Well, you know what a temper I have, yet you 
tried me so; I apologized about the casts, though it was 
all your fault. Oh, Viva,” and he catches her in his 
arms and pours out his love for her in such a mad tor- 
rent of words she is powerless to stop him. 

She struggles in his arms, and the tiny dagger in her 
hair falls and catches in the lace at her breast. 

“ If it were a genuine dagger, I would freely kill 
you !” she gasps. 

“Don’t be a fool, Viva, and make a scene — dear to 
14 


210 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


your woman’s soul. I see you now probably for the 
last time, and I mean to kiss you.” 

“Let me go instantly.” 

“ I wonder you do not know me better after all 
these years. Do you suppose I will let you go until 
I kiss you. What did you mean by coming here?” 
fiercely. 

“ I thought you were not altogether a villain, and had 
some instincts of a true man about you.” 

Once more she struggles to free herself. How strong 
he is! his arms are as firmly clasped about her as though 
they were iron bands. She is aware his head is bending 
closer to her — then Mrs. Bomar stands before them, 
transfixed and gazes at them. His arms loosen from 
about her, and she rushes past Mrs. Bomar’s detaining 
hand and through the crowded drawing-room to her 
own room. For the first time in her life she feels like 
murdering a fellow-being. What must she do? She 
cannot go before the awful, haughty gaze of that 
woman again. Her face burns- with the mortification 
of it now. She presses her hands to her throbbing 
temples; she cannot think. 

“Van, Van, come and hook my gown!” calls Fannie. 

She must live through it calmly for Fannie’s sake. 

“ Where have you been ? I have been waiting for you 
some time. I thought it must have been some one else 
who went into your room, as you did not come. Is 
Denton ready? Did everything go off well? Did the 
page step on May’s gown going out? Give me my 
travelling bag. Are you sure you put enough handker- 
chiefs in ? I cannot thank you, dear, for your kindness; 
but I appreciate it so much.” 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE’S GLOVE. 


21 I 


“ Go down, Fannie; they will be waiting for you,” 
almost pushing her from the room. 

“ Kiss me again. Van,” coming back. 

Viva falls into a chair when she is alone and tries to 
collect her thoughts. She must go away at once She 
seats herself at Fannie’s desk and writes a long letter 
to Mrs. Bomar, explaining matters as well as possible, 
and takes as much blame to herself as her womanly 
dignity will permit, and begs for Fannie’s happiness 
that it all be kept from her; then she hastily packs her 
trunk. 

A week later she goes to the southern part of Vir- 
ginia with an invalid maiden lady, as her companion. 
The salary is the veriest pittance, but it is at least a 
place of refuge. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A YEAR has passed since Viva went to live with Miss 
Martin in Virginia — a very uneventful year it has been, 
its monotony broken only by an occasional church 
bazaar and letters from her friends. Miss Martin de- 
parted for Europe last week, accompanied by a 
niece whose claims she has been pleased to recognize, 
at last, and Viva received a month’s salary and re- 
mained to shut up the house, and is now on her way to 
New York, that Mecca of the unemployed. 

The train stops at a little station for breakfast. Viva 
has a horror of the rush and hurry of a railroad restau- 
rant, and prefers her breakfast in the sleeper; so she 
takes this opportunity to go out and get the benefit of 
the fresh air. She buttons up her jacket tightly, and, 
with her hands in her pockets, walks briskly up and 
down the little platform in the frosty morning atmos- 
phere. 

“How d’ you do, Miss Van Velssler?” says a boyish 
voice behind her, and turning she sees a youth who was 
telegraph operator at a mountain resort at which she 
and Marie were two summers ago. 

“Why, it is Mr. Lyons; I am very much surprised to 
see any one I know at this out-of-the-way place.” 

“ I recognized you as soon as you got out of the 
car, and when I finished my dispatches I came to speak 
to you, hoping you would remember me.” 

212 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 213 

“ Certainly, I remember you perfectly, and I am very 
glad you came to speak to me.” 

“How is Mrs. Guthrie? Though no doubt I have 
had more recent news of her than you, for I just heard 
a message she sent over the wires to her husband.” 

“ Did you ?” she says eagerly. “ What did she say ? 
Where is she ?” 

“Well, you see I can’t tell you what she said — it’s 
against orders — nothing startling, however. But she is 
at the Rennert Hotel, Baltimore.” 

“ Thank you very much. I will go to see her be- 
tween my trains. I am so glad you thought to tell me.” 

“Your train is about to pull out,” he says; “you had 
better get on,” and he assists her up the high steps and 
raises his cap. “ A mighty fine girl that,” he thinks, as 
she smiles a good-by from the moving car. “ I’ll never 
forget her kindness to me when I was sick at the springs, 
when the other swell ladies were above asking about or 
noticing the operator. I am glad I could do her that 
slight service.” 

Viva arrives at Baltimore about three o’clock in the 
afternoon and drives to the Rennert. 

“Show me to Mrs. Guthrie’s room,” she says to the 
hall-boy. 

Marie is sitting by the window with a piece of fancy- 
work, and looks up inquiringly as the door opens at her 
sweet permission to “ Come.” 

“Viva,” she says, getting up and dropping all her 
silk floss and scissors, and going toward her. “ How 
could you get here so soon ?” 

“ Soon ?” says Viva after she has kissed her. “ I do 
not understand.” 


214 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 


“ Didn’t you get my telegram?” 

“ I have not heard from you for ages, and as the 
whereabouts of a naval officer or his wife is always 
uncertain, I wrote you care the Navy Department last 
week. I owe the pleasure of seeing you to little Dick 
Lyons — remember the operator in the Alleghanies that 
summer ? He was at the train at a little station down 
the road and told me he had heard a message from you 
over the wires, so I stopped off on my way to New 
York, and thought I’d stay all night with you and have 
a long talk with you ‘just to hold together what was 
and is.’ Fortunately I had only bought a ticket to 
Washington.” 

“How funny! When I received your epistle last 
night, saying Miss Martin was going to Europe, I wired 
you at once to come here and go with me to visit Lola 
Whitney. She has invited us several times lately. I 
never told you, because I knew you could not go then. 
I wrote to her this morning and accepted for us both, 
on your account. I did not care about it before, for I 
do not like visiting relatives-in-law. But I thought it 
would be nice for you. She has not changed from the 
vain, silly woman you knew in Washington — only by a 
recent count she has grown three years younger — who 
used to rave over ‘dear Cousin Charlie,’ much to Char- 
lie’s amusement. He used good-naturedly to put up with 
her whims, and I think she was honestly fond of him, 
and so she wants you for his sake. Jeff never could 
tolerate her nonsensical airs, and would not go if he 
could get leave of absence. She is at her country 
home, Lilacmere, near here. But I am chattering like 
a magpie, as usual, and never attending to you. You 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 215 

will find this chair better. Now you are more comfort- 
able. Tell me all about yourself while I make you a 
cup of tea.” 

“ I wrote you on such momentous occasions as when 
the village doctor or the rector and his wife called, or 
when we had spring cleaning — the days have been per- 
fectly colorless, insufferably dull, with only the small 
irritating affairs of life to occupy one’s self. I have 
nothing to tell.” 

“Well, I have, as the little red hen in the nursery 
tale says. Who do you suppose is here ?” tilting the 
teapot in her eagerness, and nearly spilling the water. 
Then not waiting for a reply and with greater empha- 
sis, “ One of your old flames.” 

“Yes?” says Viva, cruelly, not betraying the proper 
amount of interest. 

“ Some one you met in Washington, and who went 
quite wild over you,” insinuatingly. 

“ You forget my conquests are so numerous that it 
would be impossible to recall to mind, at a moment’s 
notice, one of so long ago,” with mock earnestness. 

“ Now, Viva, you know no one, not even my worst 
enemy, could accuse me of being a matchmaking per- 
son; but it seems like fate, his being here now. He 
came over to my table to-day, but as he said he was 
going away to-morrow, I did not tell him you would 
probably come in a few days. But it does seem strange, 
your arriving here so peculiarly, and I am sure some- 
thing will come of it.” 

“ May I inquire who this mysterious he is, this youth 
upon whose suit you condescend to smile?” asked Viva, 
with absurd solemnity. 


2 i 6 naval cadet CARLYLE^ S GLOVE, 

“ Do not tease, dear — I mean John Conway. His 
attentions to you when he was in Washington, getting 
that mining bill through the House, were so marked I 
had to tell him of your engagement to Charlie. He 
looked as if he wanted to ask about you to-day, but 
grew red under his bronze and did not. I am sure he 
is still interested in you. He is not a polished man of 
the world, dear — only a miner; but with his enormous 
wealth, coupled with his bluff, frank-hearted self, no 
woman could complain of her lot in life. Let me write 
to him and tell him we leave for Lilacmere to-morrow 
and will receive him, if he can call after dinner.” 

“ Oh, Marie, if you knew how I hate the words 
‘wealthy marriage, ’ how much of that sort of thing I 
have heard from my aunt, and how mortified I have 
been over it all, you would spare me. I am worn out 
and just want to be let alone. Life is fast losing what 
little charm it ever had for me — I have seen so much of 
life, have lived so long. At sixteen, when my father 
died, I had seen more of the rough and poverty-stricken 
part of the world than most women of five-and-twenty. 
And since then — oh, heaven! it has been awful, ex- 
cept those two bright years with 5-ou. Sometimes I 
think, if this is youth, the enviable part of existence, 
what will old age be! It seems to me I have 
lived my allotted time in these twenty-two years. I am 
tired of visiting, between acts, swell people, and mas- 
querading as a fine lady, only to go back to drudgery 
again — but the latter is sometimes not more work than 
playing the society woman. Let me go on to New 
York in peace. I am weary, so weary of it all,” drop- 
ping her head in her hands. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 217 

“Viva,” cries Marie in consternation, putting down 
the teapot, and going to her and clasping her arms 
about her. “There,” she says soothingly, as if she 
were speaking to a little child, “ perhaps it is all for the 
best. Who can say? Fate may have something very 
delightful in store for you. You won’t mind my say- 
ing it, will you, dear? but I cannot help thinking you 
would not have been happy with poor Charlie.” 

'‘’"Don't” says Viva sharply. “ I will not let you say 
that. I am so miserable I want to think I might have 
been happy — that it was intended I should be.” 

“I did not mean to hurt you, child; I only meant you 
did not love him as he would have wished.” 

“ Do you think so ? Perhaps he might have been 
disappointed in me. I was very deeply grieved when 
he died.” 

“ Of course you were, as you might have been over a 
brother or a very dear friend ; but I will not say so, if you 
do not wish it. You are too young and beautiful a girl to 
go about the world alone. Viva, and that is the reason 
I want to see you married. You know I am devoted to 
you and your interests and speak from my heart.” 

“To marry a man like John Conway for his money 
would be criminal — it ought to be punishable by law, 
as ‘obtaining money under false pretences.’” 

“Absurd! There would be no pretence about it. 
He is not a gushing schoolboy, to make maudlin love 
to you, but a plain, straightforward Westerner, with no 
nonsense about him.” She seats herself at her desk and 
scribbles a few lines. “Yes, it surely is best,” she 
thinks, looking at Viva. “ I wonder if I can make her 
see it?” Aloud she says: “He is what most women 


2i8 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 


would call an ugly man, but you have too much sense 
to object to him on that score, and can appreciate his 
goodness. I have written to him; he will call, and you 
can use your own pleasure about seeing him alone. 
Excuse me while I take this to the elevator and have 
the boy send it to the office; my bell got out of order 
after lunch, and does not ring.” 

As Marie comes out of her room, she looks down the 
corridor, and recoils against the register, and does not 
notice that she burns her hand in doing so, but only 
gazes helplessly at the retreating figure down the hall. 
John Conway had come out of the adjoining room, and, 
with his broad-brim hat pulled over his eyes, strode down 
the corridor. She remembers with a shudder how 
plainly she heard the conversation of those two college 
boys who occupied the room last week. The room 
communicates with hers, and there is a transom over 
the door. 

“ He heard me say he is ugly, and her say it would be 
marrying him for his money,” shq almost moans, “and 
all before he proposed. I must not let her know, but 
if she asks will tell her he is gone.” She tears up the 
note and throws it out of a window. She presses her 
hands together. “ How unfortunate!” she says. “She 
seems to be a plaything of destiny. And oh, this is all 
my fault! If I had not spoken so plainly! I am 
almost afraid she will read it in my eyes. She would 
never forgive me.” 

To Marie’s intense satisfaction. Viva does not ask 
about John Conway, and that little lady is saved by a 
divine Providence from having to perjure herself as to 
the whereabouts of Mr. Conway, and she is possessed 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 219 

of an undying gratitude to the gentleman in question 
because he absents himself from the table de hate dinner. 
Once or twice she thinks her hour has come, when she 
sees a tall individual loom up in the distance, and she 
seeks refuge behind the evening paper; but it is 
always a false alarm. She cuts short the last courses 
and quickly gains the safe harbor of her own apart- 
ments. She gives orders to be called for a very early 
train, much to Viva’s surprise, who knows her aversion 
to early-rising, and breathes freer when they are going 
from Baltimore as fast as steam and the inventions of a 
progressive age can carry them. 

“It might have been worse,’’ is the thought with 
which she consoles herself as she leans back in a corner 
of the sleeper for her usual morning nap, which her 
unwonted energy has deprived her of to-day. “Viva,” 
she says, waking up with a start, “have you any dinner- 
gowns ?” 

“Two; a black lace and a pale-green cashmere.” 

“ Well, you know that white silk I wrote you about 
being made so wretchedly by that fiend Hortense, who 
can do beautifully when she is in the temper — the waist 
is entirely too small; can do nothing with it. It will 
just fit you, and by lowering the lace flounce on the 
bottom it will be long enough; so go to work on it as 
soon as we arrive — I cannot have you look not up-to- 
date before Charlie’s relatives. There, now, not one 
word from you; I am dead tired and sleepy. Take my 
ticket and let me be disturbed at your peril,” poking 
her pillow and closing her eyes. 

“Are we there?” says Marie, reluctantly opening her 
eyes as Viva vigorously shakes her, several hours later. 


220 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 


“Yes. You barely have time to put on your hat and 
get your things together,” firmly, as she sees Marie cast 
affectionate glances at her pillows. 

“ I suppose if we arrive at this unearthly hour we 
will find them at breakfast.” 

“ No; we are nearly two hours late,” says Viva. 

“ Ah, that is better. I would never forgive any one 
for arriving at my house, especially a country house, 
early in the morning, and upsetting my plans for the 
day. I doubt if there will be any one to meet us, as 
they would not expect any one but a heathen to come 
by such a train.” 

“ But since the train is late, we will arrive at a very 
respectable hour — nearly twelve o’clock. If matters 
come to the worst, we can tell the cab driver to go 
slowly,” laughs Viva. 

They give their checks to the baggageman and 
charge him, as he values his peace of mind and his 
earthly welfare, to deliver the trunks at once. It is a 
beautiful country road; the day. is clear and cool, and 
they recline comfortably in the heavy, old-fashioned 
carriage and drink in the delightful air. 

“Tell him to stop and get some of that golden rod; 
it is exquisite and will look so well pinned on your black 
gown at dinner,” says Marie. 

“ It would have been entirely unnecessary to tell him 
to drive slowly. I think he is putting his horses through 
their best paces in our honor, and we are not breaking 
the record,” laughs Viva. 

They enter the tall stone gates of Lilacmere; it 
seems a misnomer — the chrysanthemum reigns supreme. 
All over the large grounds, on the rockeries, in iron 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


221 


vases, and in the flower-beds, the chrysanthemum blooms 
in chaotic splendor. 

“What a beautiful place!” says Viva. 

“Yes, Lola has good taste, if not much sense.” 

They go up the wide stone steps and on to the old- 
fashioned porch. 

“It seems like the enchanted castle: not a soul stir- 
ring,” says Marie. “Ah, how do you do, Jenkins?” to 
the man who opens the door. “ Where is every one ? 
Tell Mrs. Whitney we have arrived.” 

“Most of the house party have gone to Fern Glen; 
please go into the library and I’ll tell Mrs. Whitney.” 

A few moments later a rustle of silken skirts is heard, 
and a faint odor of sachet is perceptible, and Mrs. Whit- 
ney glides into the room. 

“So glad to see you, Mary, dear,” with a little purr, 
and using a name she knows is warranted to ruffle 
Marie’s serene temper. “ Welcome to Lilacmere, Viva, ” 
with an affectation that, after all, is rather pretty. “ I 
am so sorry I did not know you would come by this 
train — you always arrive by the other,” with a little 
apologetic gesture. “ And I gave orders that the Fern 
Glen party were to leave the wagonette, and it was to 
go for you at three o’clock.” 

“Do not say another word; we understand fully. I 
told Viva you would not expect any one in their proper 
senses by such a train — it was just a freak of mine. 
When I feel that I need some sort of punishment, I 
get up early; once in awhile it is invigorating, like 
salts; but if kept up continually, it would be bad for my 
morals and constitution, I am sure.” 

“ Let me take you to your rooms; then you can come 


222 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


down and have a bite of lunch with me,” says Mrs. 
Whitney, who met Lord Egdon in Scotland two years 
ago; and whether he spoke of his most sumptuous ban- 
quet or his breakfast of rolls and coffee he always said 
“a bite,” a word which Mrs. Whitney immediately 
adopted on her return to her own country, and she has 
grown to feel she has the American copyright on it, and 
resents bitterly any one using it as she would their copy- 
ing her best gowns. 

“You will have your old room, Mary,” she continues; 
“ and 1 had intended the adjoining one for Viva, but 
Mrs. Thornton has it,” leading the way up stairs. “I 
believe everything is in order,” opening the door of 
Marie’s room. “Yours is across the hall, Viva. Ah, 
here is Jenkins with the satchels. Come to the dining- 
room as soon as you are ready.” 

“Will be with you presently,” says Marie, diving into 
the recesses of her huge travelling-bag. “ If you had 
been up since the break of day, you would be hungry, 
too.” 

“That is warning enough, I hope, Mrs. Whitney,” 
laughs Viva. 

“My heart sank to my boots — which are new and 
B last, by the way, and very comfortably filled with 
only my pedal extremities — when she talked of a bite, 
till I remembered it ‘is Henglish, you know,’” says 
Marie as soon as they are alone, removing her tiny 
boots and putting on a pair of dainty bronze slippers. 
“Well, I suppose we are fascinating enough, consider- 
ing there is ‘none to admire,’ and we may as well go 
down.” 

“Come on, then; I am ready,” says Viva. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 22J 

“Who is here?” asks Marie as soon as the first sharp 
edge of hunger is dulled. “ Any one I know ?” 

‘‘Yes, I suppose so. Mrs. Thornton Claire — she has 
been a widow some time now, you know; Mrs. Wilder 
and her daughter, and ” 

“ What Wilder ? of the th cavalry ?” 

“Yes; and let me see, Mr. Gresham — little H. W., 
you know.” 

“He is the dearest boy,” says Marie, laughing at 
some escapade of Mr. Gresham evidently. 

“He is madly in love with Claire just now,” says 
Lola, with emphasis on the just now; evidently Mr. 
Gresham does not impress her as a gentleman to whom 
it would be wise to pin one’s faith. 

“ And deserted me ? Shameful!” says Marie. 

“ He is the very person to have in a house party ; his 
spirits never flag, and he is constantly getting up 
amusements for the crowd,” says Lola, as though she 
owed it to herself to apologize for honoring the gentle- 
man in question with an invitation to Lilacmere. 

“ I used to hear a great deal about him from a friend 
of mine, a Harvard man, so I am very anxious to meet 
him,” says Viva. 

“I hope you will not be disappointed in him,” says 
Lola, but with grave fears for the worst in her 
voice. 

After luncheon they go to the front door and look 
out on the river, bathed in the crimson afternoon sun- 
light. Beyond the gates and across the road are the 
steps leading to the boathouse, a pretty little red 
structure containing two well-appointed rowboats. 
The atmosphere is so clear they can see out almost into 


224 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


the bay. A steam launch from the hotel a short dis- 
tance down the river is passing. 

“ I suppose you want to go to your rooms and rest,” 
says Lola; “or, if you prefer, I can have the boats 
brought out, or you can drive, but I am a slave to my 
afternoon nap, so ” 

“ Do not miss it on our account,” says Viva hastily. 
“We will go down to the water’s edge for a few mo- 
ments, and then to our rooms. Oh, there are the 
trunks! I am glad we will not have to appear at dinner 
in travelling-garb.” 

“It is an ideal country home,” says Marie as they 
stroll along. Then after a while, “ Come in out of this 
glare; your complexion will be a fright. Come on at 
once,” dragging her in. “Now,” she says, when they 
are upstairs, “ you put on your dressing-gown and lay 
your fair self down on that couch, while I unpack and 
shake out your gown for to-night. Where are the 
keys? What on earth have you in this tray? 
Bricks? It is as heavy as lead. This is the gown, 
I suppose; but where is the waist to it? Don’t get up; 
I have it now. It is very pretty. Now go to sleep, 
while I will spend the afternoon in writing to my liege 
lord.” 

The dressing bell rings before Viva opens her eyes. 
Goodness, could that have meant dinner? She opens 
her door and calls softly to Marie. That lady enters 
with her mouth full of pins and the ribbons for her belt 
in her hands. 

“ I wanted you to pin this before you go down. What ! 
not begun to dress?” she says in horror. “You must 
hurry. There, that is all right. Thanks. Do you 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE’S GLOVE. 225 

need me to help you fasten your gown ? If not, I will 
go down, for I am dying to see who is here.” 

“ No, do not wait for me. I can get along beauti- 
fully; and, as you see, my toilet is in the initials.” 

“Be sure you do your hair high,” calls Marie, as she 
trips down the hall. 

Viva hurries through with her toilet: she hates to 
be late her first evening. She does not know that no 
one is ever on time at Lilacmere; and even at dinner, 
the formal meal of the day, the guests sometimes strag- 
gle in one by one. It is the most heels-over-head 
household in the country, and how’ it ever manages to 
hold itself together or keep up even a semblance of 
order is a mystery that has never been solved. 

“ I think it is wretched form to insist on one’s guests 
being on time,” Mrs. Whitney is wont to observe, “just 
as if they were at boarding-school or under military dis- 
cipline. If they choose to be late and eat cold meals, 
let them.” 

And she reserves the same privilege for herself. 

The drawing-room is deserted when Viva enters; 
Marie has wandered into the conservatory. Can they 
have gone to dinner ? How awkward! No, the dining- 
room is silent as the grave. There is a man standing 
at the far end of the room, leaning on the mantelpiece. 
Surely there is something familiar in that indolent 
position. He turns slowly and looks at her. She stops 
at a table and turns over some photographs. If he 
would move from the shadow of that screen, she feels 
sure she would recognize him. He looks at her more 
closely; the bored expression disappears from his face 
and he comes quickly forward. 

15 


226 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


“Surely I cannot be mistaken. No, it is Miss Van 
Velssler. Charmed, I am sure. So you are the Viva 
they expected ? I never heard the last name, but 
always ‘My cousin, Mrs. Guthrie, and Viva come to- 
morrow,’ ” and Captain Parker stands looking down at 
her. 

“An unexpected pleasure to meet Captain Parker 
again,” she murmurs. 

She wonders what it is about him that always puts 
her under a strain — perhaps the absurd carefulness of 
his manner. In the old days it was natural, she 
thought, when she was a shy schoolgirl, and uncertain 
of herself ; but now she has grown to be a woman of the 
world, and the same feeling is present. She wonders 
nervously if he remembers their last meeting — the day 
he dragged poor little Freddy off in disgrace. She 
straightens the tips on her big black feather fan and 
then looks at him, and sees by the queer, searching gaze 
he bestows upon her that he does. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


She meets his gaze steadily, then the rest troop in. 
She is presented to a dozen people at once, and has not 
the vaguest idea as to whom the names belong. Cap- 
tain Parker stays by her with the evident intention of 
taking her to dinner. 

“By Jove, Miss Viva,” says a youth, rushing madly 
over the trains of the women and grasping both her 
hands in his, “ I am just too delighted to see you again. 
I heard from Mrs. Guthrie a moment ago that you were 
here,” shaking her hands vigorously, much to the detri- 
ment of a tiny jet band that crosses her arm and holds 
her very short sleeve in place. 

“ It is little' Strauther,” she says, with evident delight. 
“ I can think of no one I had rather see than you. 
Where have you been all these ages?” 

“Little Strauther,” he laughs, drawing himself up to 
his splendid height. “ I have not heard that since you 
cut the Jersey coast dead. It is funny. But speaking of 
those old studio days, I ran over Denton Overton in 
one of the New York clubs the other day.” 

“Yes?” she says, a little uneasily. 

“ And the first thing he said was, ‘Hello, little Strau- 
ther!’ How old names cling to one. Do they still call 
you ” 

“No,” she says hastily, “not since my father died; 

227 


228 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


but then, I have not seen any of his old friends, or not 
much of them, at least.” 

Captain Parker looks at this youth, who dares rush 
in and monopolize the woman he is talking to, in sheer 
disgust. “ Who is the cub ?” he wonders as he strokes 
his blond moustache. 

“ Do you know I am going to ask Mrs. Whitney to 
let me take you to dinner,” Mr. Strauther continues, 
confidentially. “I have so much to tell you.” 

The “ so much to tell you” is the culminating straw. 
Captain Parker’s disgust rises to white heat. 

“Worse than the average schoolgirl,” he thinks, 
contemptuously. 

Mr. Strauther picks up Viva’s fan, and carefully 
getting out of the way of her train offers her his arm, 
and they slowly follow the crowd to the dining-room. 
Viva, after the fish, when there is the first pause in 
little Strauther’s incessant chatter, discovers that Cap- 
tain Parker is on her left and that he has fallen to the 
lot of Marie. 

“ I am fortunate to meet two old acquaintances here,” 
Viva says to him. “ But then a person who travels about 
as much as I is apt to meet people who, one would 
think, had forgotten all about one.” 

“ And whom one has forgotten all about ?” he says 
inquiringly. 

“No, I could never forget my friends.” 

'‘'Could you think I had forgotten you?” he asks, 
without a vestige of anything bordering on flirtation in 
his manner. 

Again that strained feeling takes possession of her, 
and she is glad that the butler comes between them to 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 229 

fill the wineglasses; and by the time he is gone, little 
Strauther is deeply engaged in telling her one of his 
Princeton escapades. Captain Parker devotes himself 
to Marie entirely during the other courses, and that 
lady, in the privacy of her dressing-room, several hours 
later, pronounces him “a most charming man.” 

When the men come into the drawing-room after din- 
ner, Captain Parker goes straight to Viva’s side, and 
little Strauther, who has told her all about himself at 
dinner, seeks some one to whom the details of his inter- 
esting self will be new, and takes possession of a stool 
at Mrs. Thornton’s feet, much to the disgust of her 
other cavalier, H. W. 

“ For the most delightful hour in the day, commend 
me to the one after a charming dinner and a good 
cigar, when one is in a comfortable chair and talking to 
a pretty woman,” says Captain Parker to Viva, with the 
air of a connoisseur. 

“ Shall I thank you on my own account or that of my 
hostess?” she asks. 

“ Pray do neither — one should not be rewarded for 
an involuntary action.” 

“Another pretty speech! I am deeply in your 
debt.” 

“ Have you ever been to Glenwood since your visit 
there during the holidays?” with a sudden cessation of 
banter. 

“No, the place was sold then,” she says sadly. “A 
Dutch beer merchant is ruling at dear old Glenwood.” 

“Yes, I know; but I thought perhaps you might have 
visited friends in the town. We were ordered away 
soon after, and most of the fellows were glad to go, 


230 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE, 

since the pleasant tennis teas, and parties at Glen- 
wood, and a certain presiding young woman were no 
more.” 

“What has become of ‘the fellows’ ? I used to know 
nearly all in the th cavalry,” she says. 

“ There have been very few changes in the regiment, 
except the death of the dear old colonel; and you re- 
member Freddy Winston, of course; he was married in 
the spring — quite a swell army wedding — and then he 
resigned. She was a Philadelphia heiress.” 

“Poor Freddy,” she says, smiling. “ He never failed 
to arouse auntie’s wrath, and always made her say she 
was good friends with him before he left her. My 
wildest imagination cannot picture Freddy as a married 
man.” 

Then she remembered how Freddy insisted upon her 
picturing him as such, stops, opens and shuts her fan, 
then looks up to find him looking at her intently, and 
laughs. At two-and-twenty it is easy to laugh at what 
seemed the veriest tragedy at eighteen. 

Miss Wilder is at the piano with Mr. Lamot, of Balti- 
more, with whom she is carrying on a vigorous flirta- 
tion in any thing but a subdued tone, while her mother 
looks on in mild remonstrance. Long experience has 
taught Mrs. Wilder that it is useless to interfere with 
her daughter, who is onsidered the gayest and most 

headstrong girl in the th cavalry, which is saying a 

great deal for her. Mrs. Whitney is seated by a table 
with a book, and is insufferably bored. She is always 
bored, she thinks, wearily. 

“ They are paired off at once, like animals in a toy 
ark,” she thinks. “Claire has two men; there always 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 231 

has to be an extra man, and there is a grab for him, but 
she has got him this time.” 

There is always a dash of Bohemianism at the house 
parties at Lilacmere. The irregular hours, the gayety, 
and the utter freedom make it a delightful place to 
visit. Mrs. Whitney’s balls and parties are always en- 
joyable ; she never gives anything so foolish as a fancy 
dress party, nor so stupid as a poudre Ute. 

“ One has no more right to say what one’s guests 
shall wear, and put them to the expense of some silly 
fancy dress costume, than one has to say they shall go 
to the expense of getting a certain style of carriage 
to come in; and no more right to compel them to 
litter their hair with flour than to tell them with 
whom they shall dance or flirt,” she has been heard to 
say. 

If there happen to be two people who wish to see 
more of each other than the world approves, they may 
come to Lilacmere together, provided they are of the 
haut ton^ and have a proper regard for les convenances, 
Mrs. Whitney cannot take it upon herself to be respon- 
sible for the morals of her guests, but she expects them 
to conduct their flirtations sub rosa, and would be the 
first to be horribly shocked and to condemn should a 
scene occur. The guests at Lilacmere are always of 
three classes: swell people Mrs. Whitney thinks it 
worth while to cultivate; people who think it worth 
while to amuse the swell people, who are, alas! often 
heavy and hard to entertain, and the people who are to 
amuse Mrs. Whitney. They are divided this fall: Mrs. 
Thornton and the Wilders belong to the first class. 
Mrs. Whitney thinks she would like, for reasons best 


232 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE.' 

known to herself, to visit Fortress Monroe, where Col- 
onel Wilder’s regiment is stationed; little Strauther, H. 
W. , and Viva — yes, she thinks she can depend upon Viva 
being amusing — belong to the second. The third ? 
Well, from the way her ringed hands turn the leaves of 
the book she is not reading, and the peculiar expression 
in her eyes as she glances at Viva and Captain Parker, 
one might be led to suppose he had been invited for 
that honor. If so, he fails signally in his duty; his head 
is bent over Viva, and he talks to her in what could not 
possibly be termed a whisper, yet which cannot be 
heard three feet away. 

“ Considering Charlie has only been dead eighteen 
months, I think Viva is flirting rather desperately with 
Clyde Parker,” thinks Lola, shutting her book with a 
snap. 

Lola Whitney is a woman pitifully dependent upon 
the society of others for amusement; she has no re- 
sources of her own. She was the youngest of seven 
daughters; the family for generations have been army 
people, and with no other income. When she was at 
boarding-school she determined to marry a wealthy 
man; the family had had enough of the distinction that 
the army and political position could give without 
money, and now money was the needful thing. Dur- 
ing her first season she cut the young officers of her 
father’s regiment, and labelled herself, “ None without 
money need apply.” At the end of the season she mar- 
ried old Whitney ; he was five-and-sixty, but she con- 
soled herself with the thought that the older he was the 
sooner he would die and leave her his millions, and if 
she could have added fifteen years to his age, she would 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 233 

have cheerfully done so. A merciful providence took 
him off in a spell of influenza a few years after the mar- 
riage, and he left Lola and his infant son all of his 
property. That was so long ago, and her youth has 
passed now, and though her fullest ambitions have been 
realized she is a miserable woman. Her romance came 
late in life, and that too is a thing of the past now. No 
girlish dream could have been sweeter, she thinks. She 
had always so guarded her affections, and determined 
to crush them and make them subject to her ambition 
before, that it was very delightful to give her heart full 
power to love as it might. How happy she might have 
been if her destiny had been fulfilled! How she hates 
Marie Guthrie, who interfered! Oh, if she only could 
make her feel half such suffering! But it is impossible; 
Marie is a butterfly, and happy in the sunlight of her 
husband’s love. Try as she may, she cannot poison 
Jeff Guthrie’s mind against his wife. She asks Marie 
here year after year, and invites the most charming, 
fascinating men to meet her, and watches her so closely: 
but all in vain, there is nothing she can turn or pervert 
to her own use. 

“ Viva!" calls Marie half an hour after they have 
gone upstairs. Viva opens her door. “ Leave your 
door open, I want to come over and have a talk with 
you," then she looks down both ends of the corridor 
and flits across in her dressing-gown. “ There, I am 
safe. I feared the men might be coming upstairs, but 
I suppose they are good for another hour yet." 

Then, since she has just had such a lesson in regard 
to interfering With other people’s love affairs, she very 
adroitly questions Viva about Captain Parker; learns 


234 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 

the whole story of their meetings at Glenwood without 
any very apparent curiosity. Finally she says: 

“ Viva, I want to warn you not to offend Lola Whit- 
ney; she would be a very dangerous enemy for a young 
girl.” 

“Offend her? My dear Marie, I am her guest, 
though there is no especial friendship between us; she 
is pleased to indulge in a maudlin sentiment about me 
because of Charlie, but I think she is incapable of really 
caring for any one.” 

“ The strongest emotion she is capable of is hatred 
of me,” says Marie. Viva stops unpacking her photo- 
graphs and looks at her in astonishment. “Yes, it is a 
long story and would not concern you ; and, as you say, 
we are her guests. But she thinks she owes me an old 
grudge, though I was not to blame ; and I saw her look 
at you peculiarly to-night, and for the first time it oc- 
curred to me she might vent her spite at me through 
you. Jeff is fond of keeping up a friendliness between 
his relations; and as his sister is a cross old maid and 
refuses to accept me on any terms, I try to keep all this 
from him as long as she masks her batteries and keeps 
up an outward show of friendship. I just thought I’d 
tell you, as it might be a guide for you. Good- 
night.” 

Viva sits by her open trunk after Marie has gone and 
wonders what it can mean. She will keep her eyes 
open, and the thing will reveal itself in time, she thinks, 
as she picks up the scattered photographs. 

“ I did not want to tell her openly not to flirt with 
Parker,” thinks Marie. “If she can marry the catch 
of the army, let her, Lola Whitney or not. He has not 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 235 

grown better-looking certainly since our old days on the 
coast. Well, ‘it is a mad world, my masters.’ ” 

For the next few days Captain Parker rather rouses 
himself out of his usual calm and devotes himself to 
Viva — there is no one to interfere; every available man 
is on duty at the feet of his present bright particular 
star. Miss Wilder has completely captured and en^ 
slaved Mr. Lamot; Mrs. Thornton has her Harvard vs. 
Princeton affair well in hand, and the people who have 
come and gone during the week have been taken up 
with each other. When H. W. arranges a water party 
or an excursion of any kind, he scratches down Viva’s 
name with Captain Parker’s as a matter of course. 

It is a perfect afternoon. Viva and Captain Parker 
come down the front steps and stroll down the carriage 
drive. “What shall we do with ourselves ?’’ she asks. 
“ Where can Mrs. Thornton have taken herself off to — 
escorted, no doubt, by her dual guard?’’ laughing. 
“There, I think I see them out on the river! One of 
the boats is here. Come, let us follow to bring home the 
mangled remains of ‘the other fellow,’ if the long 
dreaded has happened and one of the warriors rests on 
his shield.’’ 

“Your will is, as usual, law,” says Captain Parker, 
who hates rowing as much as possible, and who would 
infinitely prefer a stroll through the grounds. 

He has grown lately to refer very often and very 
touchingly to the old days at Glen wood ; yet there is 
something peculiar in his manner, a shade of something 
that looks like fear at times. Once or twice he has 
seemed to be on the point of making love to her, but 
checked the words on his lips. Yet he subtly conveys 


236 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


his admiration for her in a hundred and one pretty ways 
a day. Marie sees the struggle and watches the out- 
come with breathless and almost nervous interest; 
Mrs. Whitney looks on with gathering hate in her heart, 
and Viva — well, who can read the thoughts of the 
haughty Viva Van Velssler? 

Captain Parker idly picks up the oars and, glancing 
over his shoulder, says : “ Which way ? Must that bril- 

liant red and white coat of H. W. ’sbe my lighthouse?’* 
and fully making up his mind to pass them at long 
distance. 

“ Yes. Let us ask them if they are going to the hotel, 
and if so, to let us join them,” as she steers in that 
direction. 

“Yes, your treatment of me that day was very 
severe,” he says, taking up the thread of his conversa- 
tion again. “‘A headache’ is so much more crushing 
than the usual ‘not at home.’” 

“ That was very funny,” she laughs, dipping her hand 
in the cold water. “ But auntie thought Mr. Winston 
might return, and he was hopelessly in her black books 
forever, and was to understand he had the cut direct, 
and Uncle Josh mistook you for him.” 

He leans toward her and looks at her with an expres- 
sion she has never quite seen before in his eyes. 

“Then,” he says in a low voice filled with emotion, 
“ if you had known you would ” 

“Have received you, of course; why should I not?” 
looking straight at him. 

He pulls himself together, picks up the oars, and mur- 
murs something conventional about its having been his 
misfortune. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 237 

“ For genuine conceit commend me to a man who is 
or thinks he is brilliant,” Viva thinks, as she wipes the 
little cold hand she has had in the water and puts it in 
her muff. ■ “ They are told so often of their brilliancy 
by people who really admire them or by people who 
feel it the correct thing to do, and which by leaving 
undone they fear would argue themselves stupid, till the 
conceit grows to be appalling. He thinks it was force 
of circumstances that kept me from rushing eagerly to 
him, and is fully convinced that now he has only to 
drop the handkerchief and I will gladly, humbly pick it 
up — only he fears to resign his liberty. Bah! of all 
fools, commend me to the brilliant one,” and she gives 
the cord a jerk and nearly runs into the boat of Claire 
and her Harvard attendant. 

“‘Ship ahoy! what cheer, what cheer?’” calls Claire^ 
making a bugle of her dainty hands, covered with rings. 

“ Run aground ; we crave your protection,” says Viva, 
tossing her the rope of her own boat. “ Tow us in, 
Mr. Gresham; Captain Parker is exhausted,” looking 
at him with crushing scorn, as he leans back with 
effeminate indolence. 

“What will you give us?” says Claire, who grasps 
this opportunity to put an end to H. W. ’s too ardent 
lovemaking. “ It is a very easy thing to turn aside 
such pretty nothings in a drawing-room, when one can 
resort to a number of such womanly devices as bowing 
to a person across the room or asking for a favorite 
song, but in a rickety little affair of this kind, that 
threatens to turn over and end one’s earthly career if 
one moves, one is at his mercy. Catch me in a boat 
any ntore!” is what that young woman thinks, as she 


238 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

takes Captain Parker’s oars, and pulls his boat after 
her by the rope used to fasten it; and every now and 
then she threatens to leave them in mid-stream sans 
oars if they do not vow to do her bidding forever- 
more. 

H. W. does not condescend to enter into the banter, 
and looks at the intruders in a way wholly different 
from his usual genial beam, and rows so vigorously as 
to bring a color to his fat, pleasing, boyish face, that puts 
to shame his coat, and that might lead one to believe 
that he is practising to humiliate the Yale crew at New 
London. They land and all go up the drive together. 
H. W. is still disposed to bear malice, and hide from 
their gaze his good-natured smile. 

“There, I’ll wager tea is being served, and you have 
made me late, as you always do somehow!’’ says Claire, 
looking up at him with a glance that says she would like 
to chide him for making the hours speed with such 
lightning rapidity. It brings him round at once, and 
he gets as close as possible to her as he takes off her 
wraps in the hall. 

“Late again,’’ says Marie, as they enter. “We are 
going to reduce your supply of sugar, H. W., for every 
moment you are late after this,” she continues, keeping 
up a chatter to prevent any possible unpleasant speech 
of Mrs. Whitney that might be directed at the delin- 
quent Viva. 

A close observer might have noticed a gleam of 
triumph in Mrs. Whitney’s eyes and an impatient ex- 
pectancy in her manner, but they are all so taken up 
with themselves they do not look at her. 

“What a horribly long afternoon it has been!” says 


NAVAL CADET CALL VLB'S GLOVE. 239 

little Strauther, with keen reproach, seating himself as 
close as possible at Claire Thornton’s feet. 

“ It has been a most delightful afternoon,” saysH. W. 
with emphasis, not contented with having wounded 
the enemy, but twisting the knife. 

“ I was speaking to Mrs. Thornton,” says little Strau- 
ther, pointedly. The pause following this is tragic. 

“Dear me!” says Claire plaintively. “Am I to have 
nothing but this cup of tea, after rowing all evening?” 
She manages to convey by a look to little Strauther, 
which, needless to say, H. W. does not see, that it has 
been a mosf fatiguing trip, and she is in dire need of 
refreshments. 

Before she has hardly finished, both spring to their 
feet, rush across the room to the tea-table and grasp a 
plate of cake, and, glaring at each other, almost run back. 

“Take mine,” says H. W., his dear little fat cheeks 
puffed out with the exercise and aglow with excitement. 

“Take mine,” says little Strauther, pushing his best 
curl out of his eyes, the better to plead his cause. 

They both stand before her in uncompromising atti- 
tudes: it is to be a duel a la Diort., they know. Which 
will she choose ? Each impatiently waits and longs for 
the other’s downfall. 

“ Thank you both so much, but I do not eat cake, at 
least not often,” says Claire heroically, for cake, es- 
pecially cake cut in great golden slices like this, is her 
particular weakness. “ Captain Parker, will you give 
me some of those biscuits you have, if you and Miss 
Van Velssler do not want them all ?” 

And for a brief spell the catastrophe is postponed. 

The noise and chatter of five o’clock tea is at its 


240 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


height, when suddenly the door is thrown open and a 
servant announces “ Mrs. Parker.” They all stop and 
stare in astonishment; most of them know that it is un- 
usual for Mrs. Parker to visit the same house at the 
same time with her husband. Lola Whitney is the only 
one who seems to have control of her tongue. She 
quite gushes over the newcomer. Marie stands trans- 
fixed, trying to understand what it means. It begins 
to dawn upon the others that there is something unusual 
in the air, and that Mrs. Parker’s arrival is a surprise 
to every one except her hostess. After the first little 
clatter of her spoon against her cup, which might have 
been caused by the sudden opening of the door. Viva’s 
face expresses nothing but well-bred surprise. Mrs. 
Parker is still deep in the first gush of meeting her 
hostess; Captain Parker rises and saunters towards her, 
teacup in hand. 

“ Ah, Theo, my dear, if you had troubled to wire us 
by what train you would arrive, we would have been 
pleased to meet you,” he says, bowing over her hand 
and grasping it so closely in his- anger as to leave it red 
when he releases it. 

“I wired Lola,” says Mrs. Parker, with a defiant 
shrug, that shows she planned this little scene and is 
determined he shall not carry it off with a high hand. 

In truth, Captain Parker has not had the faintest idea 
but that she was settled in Tuxedo for weeks to come. 
He casts a glance at Mrs. Whitney, which suggests a 
settlement with that lady later, and returns to Viva, 
and takes up his conversation where he left off, appar- 
ently as unconcerned as though he had just welcomed a 
mere acquaintance, 


NA VAL CADE T CARL YLE 'S GLO VE. 241 

“Bet there’ll be a jolly row later,” says H. W. to 
Claire, his tone indicating that he regrets keenly that 
the proprieties forbid his listening at the keyhole. 

“ Evidently something is up,” said Miss Wilder to her 
devoted. “ Parker is the biggest goose in the regiment 
about being gossipped about, and he is furious, for he 
knows as sure as the stars shine I’ll write this home to 
the post to-night. It was quite funny about his wed- 
ding! We always looked upon him as a confirmed 
bachelor, and when he was away on leave once, about 
two years ago, he jumped up and married this woman 
d propos of nothing and without warning us at all. The 
fellows would not believe it when they heard it, and 
bets ran high as to whether it was so or not. Poor 
little Freddy Winston went quite broke on the subject. 
She is awfully unpopular at the post. I do not like her, 
and I am the Colonel's daughter^ you know,” modestly. 
“Let us go over and talk to them: I want to get his 
expression to describe to Nell Mills. She is the Major’s 
daughter and used to be quite gone on him. Miss Van 
Velssler,” she says, taking a chair near Viva’s, “I have 
been intending to have a long talk with you ever since 
you came. I have heard so many of the officers speak 
of you, Mr. Winston and Mr. Hunter especially. I was 
at boarding-school, you know, when the regiment was in 
South Carolina, and I have always regretted I was not 
there to attend some of the parties at Glenwood.” 

“Yes?” says Viva, politely. “I know Mr. Winston 
and Mr. Hunter very well. Ah, I believe they are 
making a move to go upstairs.” 

With almost indecent haste, although she lingers as 
long as she possibly can, Marie flies after Viva, and 
16 


242 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

never stopping to knock, enters her room. “ Never did 
I hear of anything so disgraceful in my life!” she says, 
walking up and down the floor. “I thought that cat, 
Lola, was up to some mischief when she did not show 
her claws more lately, but took her defeat so humbly. 
The idea of every one in the house knowing it but us! 
The man is contemptible! I suppose every one, know- 
ing the customs of Lilacmere, thought you knew it too; 
and the worst of it is, you will have to pretend you did, 
to keep them from knowing you were fooled and humili- 
ated by her arrival. We will have to stay, of course, 
and accept that woman’s hospitality until the time of our 
visit expires, because we are not men and cannot have 
that godsend, ‘important business,’ to fall back upon.” 

Viva is at the window gazing out at the gathering 
twilight ; her hands are shut tightly and she is trembling, 
whether from anger or some other emotion, who can 
tell? She turns suddenly. 

“ Marie, let you and I not discuss it. It is nothing 
to us if Mrs. Parker chooses to visit her friends in this 
drop-from-the-clouds fashion. Of course we will not 
go away — why should we? And now go and begin 
your dressing; you know how long it takes you,” and 
she turns her unceremoniously from the room. 

What passed between the gallant captain of the th 

cavalry and his wife during the dressing hour no one 
knows. Certain it is, though, that Mrs. Parker sent word 
she was too tired to appear at dinner, and with an extra 
dose of chloral, to quiet her upset nerves, went to bed, 
much to the disgust of H. W., whose soul delights in 
a row, and Miss Wilder, who would have liked some 
more details for her letter. 


NAVAL CADET CAELYLE'S GLOVE. 243 

That was last evening, and if any of the members of 
the house party at Lilacmere lost sleep last night, they 
do not show it this morning. Every one is talking of 
and making arrangements for the famous Hunt Club 
dinner to the farmers to-day. The old families, who 
never appear at any other functions, always show up 
at the annual dinner to the farmers. The houses for 
miles around are crowded to their utmost for this affair. 
The old families rather resented having a public hotel 
built right here in their midst when that enterprise was 
first spoken of, till they thought how convenient it 
would be in the fall for a reunion of the members and 
guests of the South Maryland Hunt Club. Viva and 
Marie have promised to join some friends at the hotel 
and to go with them, a proceeding which, viewed in the 
light of subsequent events, makes Marie believe it was 
under the direct supervision of her guardian angel, since 
it relieves H. W. of the awkwardness of not knowing 
whether to assign Viva to a carriage with Captain 
Parker or not. They all eat hurried breakfasts, and 
go to array them for the event of the year. 

“ What time do we start, Mr. Gresham ?” asks Parker. 

“ Eh ?” he says, looking up with a surprise at the for- 
mal address as he hastily dispatches a chop. “ Oh, 
pretty soon,” wisely thinking: “It takes a woman for- 
ever to fix her bangs.” 

He hardly knows what it is to be called Mr. Gresham ; 
every one addresses him as H. W. Viva, at first, per- 
sisted in speaking to him in a more dignified fashion, 
but every time she did so it caused such laughter that 
she finally fell into the way of saying H. W. too. 
There is a legend extant that he was christened Hatha- 


244 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


way Washington, but his friends long since concluded it 
was too long and did not suit him any way, until, I be- 
lieve, the little matter had escaped the memory of the 
gentleman himself, and that he would feel some qualms 
of conscience about opening a letter so addressed. He 
flits about to-day, “earning his board and keep,” as he 
says, and feels he must put forth his best efforts to 
know how he can get twenty people in carriages which 
ordinarily will hold only fifteen. At last, however, he 
manages it by producing an old dogcart that has been 
banished to a corner of the carriage-house; it is very 
rickety, but he devoutly hopes it will hold together until 
he is off, at least. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


The Hunt Club wears a very gala attire; the flag is 
floating from the tower; from the great posts of the 
front balcony run festoons of gray moss, fastened with 
bunches of brilliant autumn leaves. In the drawing- 
rooms, abounding in trophies of the chase, are the sisters 
and the cousins and aunts, to say nothing of the wives 
and sweethearts, of the members of the club. On the 
lawn are gathered the horny-handed sons of the soil. 
At the left of the house is the huge banquet tent. In 
the distance can be heard the bay of the hounds, falling 
like softest music on the ear of the hunter. In one of 
the alcove windows overlooking the lawn Viva, Claire, 
little Strauther, and a couple of men, members of the 
club, are seated. They are looking at H. W., who is 
standing on a table, under a maple tree whose brilliant 
leaves look as though they were cut from the same cloth 
as his coat, addressing the farmers. If ever H. W. 
could be called handsome, it is when he is in hunting 
clothes — he has such a well-groomed appearance, and 
the merest suggestion of the hunt brings such a glow to 
his round face and such a happy light to his eyes. 
The wind is from the other direction, and the people in 
the window can only hear a word now and then. 

He is telling them that it does not matter if their 
measly old crops are trampled down, it is done by the 
South Maryland Hunt Club. “ Let them lay that flat- 

245 


246 NA VAL CADE T CARL YLE ' S GLO VE. 


tering unction to their souls and take what consola- 
tion they can,” says Claire, laughing. 

H. W. continues to speak ; he feels the force of his 
own eloquence; his eyes are lighted with the fire of his 
oratory — has he not her for an inspiration ? He brings 
his riding crop down with startling force against his 
chubby leg, to emphasize some fact. The farmers 
stroke their beards, which mainly grow under their 
chins, cock their heads on one side, and nod knowingly 
at each other when he makes a particularly telling hit. 
He rises grandly to his climax — they hear him distinctly 
at the window. 

“ Now, my friends, I repeat, it is an honor to be a 
farmer of such a State as Maryland! The farmers are 
the bone and sinew of the country! The farmers are 
the People ! And if it were not for the farmers of Mary- 
land there would be 710 South Marylarid Hunt Club” he 
finishes with a gesture, which suggests that words fail to 
express such an awful calamity. The farmers fling up 
their hats and give three hearty cheers for the South 
Maryland Hunt Club. Then they crowd around him, 
lift him from his pedestal, carry him on their shoulders 
to the balcony of the club, singing, “ For he’s a jolly 
good fellow.” 

” Whew! I deserve to be in at the find of every meet 
of the season for that,” says H. W., appearing before 
Claire and Viva, and mopping his brow, though the day 
is cold. 

“You are a treasure, my boy; a pearl beyond price,” 
says one of the officers of the club, slapping him on the 
back. “ No one can hoodwink the old duffers like 


MA VAL cade T carl YLE 'S GLO VE. 247 

H. W. is “ away and beyond” the hero of the hour. 
Every one makes much of him. Claire pushes her 
skirts aside for him to sit beside her, and smiles on him. 
She is wearing the colors of the club. Little Strauther 
curses his luck he was not born a Southerner and presi- 
dent of a hunt club. “ No one could win against such 
terrible odds as these,” he thinks, gloomily. 

The farmers enjoy the day in the tents on the lawn, 
while the club members and their guests make merry, 
talk scandal, and flirt with their neighbors’ wives within. 
H. W., as president of the club, sits at the head of the 
table in the dining-room, with Mrs. Thornton in the 
place of honor, on his right. Viva has been taken pos- 
session of by a youth who has been staying at a country 
house near, but who will join the party at Lilacmere 
to-morrow. Little Strauther, in his w^oe, stays by her 
also; so she sees nothing of Captain Parker. Mrs. 
Whitney is very much put out to-day — her son has 
come down for the festivities, and he is so embarrass- 
ingly old-looking. How shocked every one was who saw 
him! Surely he looks ten years older than little Strau- 
ther, and he is exactly the same age. It really is 
exasperating. 

‘‘ Have you seen my son since his arrival this morn- 
ing, Mr. Strauther?” asks Lola, with a smile that is 
meant to be sweet. “ He looks so old I am positively 
afraid of him. Some one told me he would not have 
been surprised if I had said we were twins. Dick is 
your age exactly, you know.” 

“ Yes; and, by the way, that is funny! I am twenty- 
two, and you told me yesterday how old you are ; so, 
according to that, you must have been married at eight 


248 JVA VAL CADET CARL YLE ’5 GLOVE. 

and were a mother at nine,” says little Strauther, dying 
to make some one as miserable as himself. 

Lola bites her lips in anger, and every one at that end 
of the table develops a wild and sudden interest in the 
weather and begins to exchange opinions about it at 
once. Mrs. Parker is next to Lola and enjoys it hugely. 
She is her best friend, and makes a note of it, to tell the 
next time they are rivals. Mrs. Parker is a tiny speci- 
man of humanity — looks like a French doll with her 
exaggeratedly curled hair and her carefully inked eyes, 
which are always stretched open wide, with the baby 
stare carried to the extreme. She looks very delicate 
and fragile, and her excessively pallid complexion would 
only need half the pearl powder religiously applied 
every two hours. She is nervous and excitable, her 
gown is startlingly French, and one’s tired eyes gaze 
on ruffles, puffs, and fastenings till one wonders meekly 
how one brain could have conceived such an affair. 
Just now Mrs. Parker is engaged in subjugating an old 
beau, whose gallantries belong.tothe last century; and, 
be it said to her credit, since she would consider it so, 
he is fast losing his head. 

There is dancing afterward, when they drive back 
under the clear autumn stars. 

The next morning Marie goes up to Viva, who is 
sitting in a sunny arbor with the new addition to the 
party, Mr. Hutchins, and says: “I have just received 
a telegram from Jeff, telling me to join him at once.” 

“ Nothing the matter, I hope,” says Mr. Hutchins, all 
sympathy, thinking it behooves him to make an impres-. 
sion on the chaperon. 

“Oh, no; I am accustomed to being dragged off, at 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 249 

a moment’s notice, to the other end of the continent. 
Of course it is just one of his freaks; still I am always 
a little uneasy till I hear again, after such a telegram 
as this. I have wired I leave on the afternoon train, 
and to let me know if he is ill. Mrs. Thornton and 
Mr.. Strauther drove to the village with the message.” 

“ I’ll go up with you and help you pack,” says Viva, 
and, with a pretty little nod to Mr. Hutchins, she tucks 
her arm in Marie’s and goes across the lawn with her. 

“ Now,” says Marie, as she flits about, ties up boxes, 
and stows away gowns in wondrously small places, 
“ there is no need of your leaving before the end of the 
week — I do not want you to go a moment sooner than 
you promised to stay — there is no need in giving the 
fair Lola & Co. a speck of an opportunity of saying 
anything spiteful. I have written to Mrs. Withersly, 
the boarding-house woman, that you are coming, and 
that you are my friend. You can manage to put up 
with her and the airs of her absurd, giggling daughter, 
I suppose, though I must confess I never stop there 
when I am in New York unless I am alone — you know 
Jeff’s fad for not liking me to be at a hotel alone. Let 
me see. I’ll wear the blue gown — no, I packed the waist 
to it ; well, then, the brown one. I know you have tact 
and diplomacy enough to defeat Lola at her own game, 
but be careful, and keep me posted of all that goes on; 
and if Jeff’s answer to my telegram does not come be- 
fore I leave, be sure to repeat it to me on the road. 
That is all. Now if you will vanish. I’ll take a tiny nap 
before luncheon.” 

Viva drives Marie to the station in the road-cart, sees 
her off, and then turns the horse’s head toward Lilac- 


250 NAVAL CADET CALL VLB'S GLOVE. 

mere again. It is such a perfect afternoon, that before 
she has gone very far she concludes to give the groom 
the reins and walk back. She draws her fur boa closely 
about her throat and puts her hands in the pockets of 
her tight-fitting jacket and walks down the road, the 
dry twigs and leaves crackling under her feet. She 
must hurry if she wants to be in time for tea, she thinks. 
Bah! the overheated rooms, the gossip, the flirtations 
pall on her, and cannot be compared to this delightful 
air and beautiful scene — she means to enjoy it. From 
the road just here is a view of the river: it looks dark 
and angry as it rushes by the brown, barren banks, and 
strangely deserted by the little pleasure-boats and steam 
launches, laden with gay parties, which used to ride so 
proudly on its bosom a short time ago. The sun is 
almost setting and hangs like a huge ball of fire in the 
opal sky, which fades away into pale pink and gray 
tints. She seats herself on a fallen log, rests her elbow 
on her knee, and her chin in her palm, and thinks. Over- 
head are the brilliant red and gold maple leaves; some 
of them fall upon her shoulders and in her lap. The 
dead leaves crackle as some one steps upon them ; the 
branches behind her are parted , and Captain Parker says : 

“ I thought I would find the artist’s daughter here. 
This is the most beautiful spot on the river. I saw the 
cart returning empty, and knew that you had walked 
back. You make a beautiful picture here, like Autumn 
when she first discovers her triumph is waning ; her reign 
is about to end, and she must abdicate her throne. 1 
always thought there was an element of tragedy in your 
face. It is an ideal day to end a summer idyl, with all 
nature to assist at the sad finale.” 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 251 

“It is an ideal day to plan one’s winter coat,” says 
Viva, briskly. Then she adds hurriedly as she sees the 
expression in his eyes: “Have you seen the morning 
papers ? I must confess that, in the pow-wow of getting 
Mrs. Guthrie off, I have not. The Government may be 
overthrown for all I know, or the President ” 

“A soldier has nothing to do with politics,” he says 
testily. 

“ Oh, has he not ?” she says airily ; “ then it behooves 
him to take an interest at once. What will become of 
you and your brother officers if they pass that bill forc- 
ing the army and navy men to resign instead of retiring 
from the service, thereby stopping altogether their pay? 
Now, if it were not for the awful possibility of that law, 
I’d really encourage Jack. Did I ever tell you of my 
artillery love ? No? That is strange. Jack’s image is 
always in my heart. But fancy an old man — you retire 
at two-and-sixty do you not ? — starting out to learn a new 
profession and to begin again in the world. No, not 
even the dash and glitter of army life in one’s youth 
can compensate for poverty-stricken old age. Let me 
see, when Jack is two-and-sixty I’ll be sixty — why, I 
would rather beg now than then, for people are always 
so much more charitable to picturesque beggars. With 
a bright red shawl over my head and a few artistically 
arranged rags, like the sage hoyden. I’d make a pictur- 
esque beggar, eh ? If the Government would only 
promise to give us a postal frank, it would not be so 
bad; but never to hear from any of one’s friends would 
be a very sad state of affairs indeed ! And a beggar 
could not spend money for paper, stamps, and sealing- 
wax, could she? Yes, I seriously think ” 


252 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

“Viva,” he says sternly, “look at me and do not talk 
nonsense.” 

She does look at him — throws back her head and 
looks steadily at him; but, to save her life, she cannot 
prevent the color from rushing to her face. She grows 
angry with herself, but that only makes the matter 
worse. 

“ This is the first time I have ever succeeded in bring- 
ing the color to your cheeks,” he says, looking at her 
with menacing admiration. 

“ It is you who are talking nonsense. Captain Parker,” 
as lightly as possible. “ I am going to the house now.” 

“ Are you ?” and he leans forward and places his hand 
in front of her on the trunk of the tree against which 
she has been leaning, thus hemming her in. Where is 
her usual tact and what makes her so frightened ? she 
wonders. His breath almost touches her cheek; she 
can feel his eyes searching her face, and knows rather 
than sees the passion that is in them, all the stronger, 
perhaps, because it is restrained. She nervously pulls 
to pieces the leaves which have fallen in her lap, and 
does not raise her eyes again. 

“Some one is coming,” she says gladly and at the 
same time imploringly — will he have time to rise to his 
feet? 

Little Strauther appears in the path. “Take care, 
Mrs. Parker,” he says, springing in front of her and 
catching her hand. “ Beg pardon, I was afraid you did 
not see that rock in the path and would fall over it,” 
he adds apologetically as he resumes his position beside 
her. 

They are beside Viva and Captain Parker now. Mrs. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 253 

Parker forgets her baby stare for once, and her eyes 
almost close as she looks maliciously at them. Little 
Strauther wonders if he overdid the matter, and curses 
the luck that made him leave the house. 

“ So this is why my lady smiled upon me, and 
hooked me into strolling with her; for I might have 
known it was not for my own personal charms. Con- 
found her!” he thinks as he stands with his hands in his 
overcoat pockets, but with his thumbs on the outside, 
and he assiduously polishes a button on his coat with 
the left one. 

“ There are some papers at the house for you from 
the department marked important — perhaps it would 
be worth your while to look into the matter,” Mrs. 
Parker says to her husband, her eyes roving from him 
to Viva and back again. 

“Thank you; you are very good to trouble. I 
dare say they can wait till after dinner,” he says 
carelessly. 

They look at each other for a moment, each measur- 
ing the other’s strength. Then she says: 

“Studying botany, Miss Van Velssler? Rather cold 
even for that pleasant pastime, I fancy.” The manner 
is distinctly disagreeable. 

“ Good afternoon, Mrs. Parker; I think I have not had 
the pleasure before to-day.” 

“ Er — I spoke to you when I came up, of course,” 
says Mrs. Parker, a trifle disconcerted. 

“Viva, I bet I can hit that log down the river with 
this rock. What do you say ? Mend my riding gloves 
if you lose ?” calls little Strauther, who has gone to the 
water’s edge. 


254 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

She slowly follows him. Then, when they are out of 
earshot, he places her hand on his arm and says: 

“ They are a jolly pair — a pair to draw to. A pity 
they can’t meet without making every one else wish they 
were at the devil. If they turn that corner before we 
get to the little iron gate, we are lost. Come, cut for 
it,” and he takes her hand and they run as fast as their 
heels can fly to a side gate. Viva is out of breath and 
almost hysterical. She leans against the gate and her 
breath comes in irregular gasps. “ Now chase your- 
self,” he says. “The whole shooting-match of us dine 
with the Ordway-Smiths to-night remember,” and he 
opens a door to the rear hall, and so she escapes to her 
own room without meeting any one. 

When every one is assembled on the front balcony to 
drive to the Ordway-Smiths’ for dinner. Viva manages 
to be put in a carriage with Claire and her two attendants. 

Mrs. Ordway-Smith is a very young hostess, and in 
fact this is her first grand dinner party since her mar- 
riage. The gossips say that young Ordway-Smith was 
a fool to marry a woman with nothing in the world to 
recommend her but her beauty, when he could have had 
any girl in the State for the asking. She is very ner- 
vous to-night, for fear everything will not go off right. 
The “ old families” and the county magnates generally 
are invited, and the “ old families” are so critical. She 
goes over the list again and again, and wonders if she 
has put the right people with the right people: that is 
such an important item. 

“ Are you sure, Dick, that I will have to go out with 
old Judge Mayard? He is so critical. I’d rather go 
with that cute little man they call H. W,” 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


255 


“Nonsense, my dear; Judge Mayard is the most dis- 
tinguished man on the Maryland bench ; of course, as 
hostess, you must go with him.” 

“ I have put that depressingly brilliant Mr. Grifhn 
with the girl from Lilacmere they say is so bright. 
None of the other women are up '.0 his mark, I know. 
He says that women ought to be kept in school till they 
are five-and-twenty ; that the reason there are no such 
statesmen now as Webster and Calhoun is that the 
women have degenerated into society butterflies, and it 
is a fact in science that children inherit their brains 
from the mother. Ough ! he is awful, 1 think ! Do not 
let him talk to me alone, will you, Dick ? All those car- 
riages must be the Lilacmere people, and I hear some 
one calling H. W. Are you sure my gown is all right? 
Did you see the dining-room? Do contrive to get a 
peep at it before we go in. So glad to see you, Mrs. 
Whitney. Did you have a very cold drive? These 
early fall nights are sometimes quite severe.” 

H. W. has gone off with Claire in triumph to show 
her the small conservatory back of the last drawing- 
room, and little Strauther is left disconsolate beside 
Viva. 

“It’s no use. I think I’ll give up and put an end to 
myself,” he says tragically. “How can a poor beggar 
like I am expect any thing else, any way! Do you know 
they stopped my allowance when I left college ?” 

“ Then I should have gone on indefinitely to college,” 
she says promptly. “ I’d have flunked, as you say, the 
last exams, as regularly as they came,” hiding a smile 
behind her fan. 

“By Jove, you have a great head!” admiringly. 


256 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

“ Well, I set up a law office; the furniture cost a fortune, 
papa said; engaged a typewriter and stenographer, and 
waited for clients. At the end of the first month not a 
soul but some of the fellows to see about the germans 
had been in the office, so I concluded I’d better re- 
trench and parted company with the typewriter. She 
cried, and said she had ‘never worked for so kind a 
gentleman before.’ I suppose not; the only letter she 
had written was to my tailor, saying I’d settle his little 
bill as soon as possible. But,” coming back to the 
hideous present, “ how on earth a stunning woman like 
that can bear to have a Harvard man always dangling 
at her heels I do not see,” with crushing scorn on the 
name of the hated order. “ Say, Viva, do you think 
Mrs. Thornton would marry a Harvard man ? They 
can’t play foot-ball, by a long shot.” 

“I am sure she would not,” says Viva, consolingl3^ 
“ She told me last night that she admired the tiger above 
all animals, and I know for a certainty that she is going 
to wear the Princeton colors at the- Thanksgiving game.” 

“You are an angel. Viva; I always said so. Just let 
me know if ever you want anybody’s head punched.” 

Viva is laughing merrily when Mr. Griffin is pre- 
sented, and offers her his arm to take her to dinner. 
The young lawyer, who Judge Mayard said was the 
only man in Maryland fit to succeed him, thinks it does 
not argue much for her brain power if she can be so 
amused at the sayings of an infant like that. 


CHAPTER XX. 


For the first two courses Viva’s attention wanders; 
she is not thinking of the facts and statistics the young 
lawyer is pouring into her ear. She becomes aware 
that he has paused for an answer; she has not the 
slightest idea what he has been talking about, her mind 
has been busy with her own tangled affairs. He tosses 
back the hair from his massive brow and continues dis- 
gustedly, as though he knows she is incapable of grasp- 
ing his meaning; but rather than keep silent he will talk 
to an unappreciative young woman. 

“ Unquestionably the pension leech which has been 
draining the national treasury should be strangled by 
the Democracy, now that it is in power. It is the im- 
perative duty of every Member of Congress to see to it 
at once. Just think of it, the amount paid out for pen- 
sions will soon reach two hundred and fifty millions a 
year. Twenty years ago, no one ever dreamed of its 
reaching fifty millions.” 

Mrs. Ordway-Smith sees Viva’s inattention and almost 
forgets to agree with a statement made by Judge May- 
ard — not that she understands, but if he says so, it must 
be so. Certainly it is easier to agree than to argue the 
point. 

“She is not entertaining Mr. Griffin at all,” thinks 
Mrs. Ordway-Smith, irritatedly. “ Now, he will go 
away and say I am a society doll and do not know how 
17 ?57 


258 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

to arrange a dinner party. I’d like to know what a no- 
body like that supposes she is invited for, if not to 
amuse impossible people. I will not ask her again, that 
is sure.” 

Viva finally catches the drift of Mr. Griffin’s flights 
and makes an effort to overcome herself, and succeeds 
quite cleverly in winding him up on one of his pet 
hobbies, and he grandly remarks he will think over 
her side of the question and will let her know the 
next time he sees her upon what he has decided. “ A 
remarkably clever girl,” he tells the men over their 
cigars, and Viva’s fortune is made evermore in Mary- 
land. 

There is an informal dance on the programme later 
at Lilacmere; the Ordway-Smiths, the “ old families,” 
the county magnates, and a few guests of the hotel near, 
who have come down for the first meet of the season 
day after to-morrow, are invited. They dance in the 
billiard room and light refreshments are continually 
served in the library, across the hall. Viva is standing 
in a doorway, talking to H. W., who is out of the run- 
ning to-night, since he dances very badly, and dancing 
is little Strauther’s strong point. The tables are turned 
since the day of the Hunt Club dinner, and little Strau- 
ther rides triumphantly on the crest of the wave. 
Claire, who has divided and subdivided every number 
pn her card, has been pleased to bestow upon him two 
whole waltzes, and has half-way promised another after 
a while if he is good, whereupon he swears he would 
take the conduct medal over an angel. Viva is wearing 
Marie’s gift, the white silk, and has an immense bou- 
quet of lavender chrysanthentums pinned on her breast, 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 259 

One of the glories of the departed Carrols, a pearl star, 
gleams at her white throat. 

“ Am I to have a waltz ?” says Captain Parker as he 
stops in the doorway. 

“ I am engaged for all the round dances,” she answers. 

“ For this one too ?” 

“ This is Mr. Gresham’s dance. We are just resting.” 

“ Oh, I know H. W. will not mind dividing with an 
old friend,” and H. W., conscious of his own deficiency 
in the dancing line, says yes. 

They float down the room together. She forgets that 
she has made up her mind to be distinctly disagreeable 
to him during the remaining two days of her visit. 
She intends to leave Saturday — then, why not take the 
first train and so get rid of part of that day? Then 
there is only to-morrow and next day : surely with pack- 
ing and letter-writing as legitimate excuses, she can 
avoid him. She forgets it all and only remembers she 
is waltzing with the best dancer in the United States 
Army, and to the most delicious music she ever heard. 
Tall as he is, the little Prince of Wales feathers in her 
hair blow against his face and the downy particles 
cling to his lips as he breathes upon them. Once, as a 
couple coming from the opposite direction runs against 
them, he tightens his hold upon her hand and skilfully 
guides her out of the way, but he does not loosen his 
clasp again. They dance on and on, remembering only 
to keep time to the intoxicating music, till the last notes 
die tremblingly in the air. They do not speak, but 
quietly follow the other dancers into the hall. Mr. 
Lamot claims her to have an ice with Miss Wilder, Mr, 
Griffin, and himself, 


2 6o naval cadet CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

“ I must have part of the next waltz,” Captain Parker 
whispers as he releases her hand from his arm. 

After the refreshments Viva goes directly to her 
room. 

“No more dancing for you, young woman; you are 
out of your senses surely, and will need a keeper soon. 
You are going to leave this house to-morrow morn- 
ing on the early train, do you understand ?” she says to 
herself sternly, looking in the glass. 

She hastily packs and then scribbles Lola a note. 

“Dear Mrs. Whitney: — I am very sorry, but upon 
coming to my room to-night, I find a telegram which 
will hasten my departure to New York. I leave long 
before you will be up, so will not disturb you, as I know 
your objection to being forced to get up early, but make 
my adieus to you this way. I regret it all exceedingly, 
and more than anything not having an opportunity of 
thanking you in person for my delightful visit. 

“ Hoping to see you in New York soon, I am, 

“Yours cordially, 

“Viva Van Velssler.” 

She seals it with Miss Carrol’s ring, a parting gift, 
and leans back in her chair. She hears little Strauther 
come up and go into a kind of smoking-room at the end 
of the hall. She has an impulse to go out and speak to 
him, to tell him she is going — she is very lonely in this 
house filled with pleasure-seekers — and to have him wish 
her well. But bah! little Strauther would be no better 
than the rest of them, no doubt, if put to the test ; and 
it is written she must be alone and fight her own battles, 
and she cannot “ avoid the doom of destiny.” She 
leaves the envelope of Marie’s telegram, saying she 
arrived safely and found Jeff all right, which came just 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


261 


before dinner, in a conspicuous place on the dresser. 
“That will do as well as anything,” she says, and is on 
her way to New York the next morning while the in- 
mates of Lilacmere are sleeping off the effects of their 
recent dissipation. 

Unceasing are her efforts to secure a position of any 
kind, but all in vain. One day she meets on the street 
a famous actor, who once read to the elocution class at 
Hammer College, and who said at the time she had a 
great talent for the stage. She stops him and recalls 
the school and the meeting to his mind; he has a vague 
idea of having praised a pupil of his friend De Solla, 
and promises to do what he can for her and to intro- 
duce her to an old manager of his. A few weeks later 
she goes with one of Frohman’s companies to make a 
tour of the South. The play is a very popular one, a 
society drama; she has the mg^nuc part, and if she is 
more of an actress and more suited to the title role than 
the leading lady that is the unavoidable misfortune 
of the leading lady. She thinks she owes it to the Car- 
rols, as her aunt would say, to resign her name and to 
sever all connection with her former friends except 
Marie and a very few. They are playing in Baltimore, 
and one morning as Viva is at breakfast a man she met 
at Fannie Bomar’s wedding comes up to her and ex- 
claims how delighted he is to see her. 

“I fancy you are mistaking me for a friend,” she 
sa5^s, looking at him blankly. “ I think you do not 
know me. I am Miss Lee — Lillian Lee — of New York. ” 

“Beg pardon,” he stammers, “I thought you were 
Miss Van Velssler,” and at the old familiar name an 
expression crosses her face that tells him that she is 


262 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

Miss Van Velssler, but he is forced to retire. He takes 
a seat at the next table. 

In a few moments she almost drops the glass of water 
she is raising to her lips — Will Harris enters. As she 
gives him her hand, she hurriedly says, for the benefit 
of the man behind her and the members of the troupe 
at the table with her, “ How do you do? It is such a 
pleasure to meet some one who knows Lillian Lee. 
Twice to-day I have been mistaken for some young 
woman from the South, I think they said,” and she lays 
a letter addressed to herself on the table, so he can 
understand. 

“ I understand. I saw you at the play last evening, 
and tried to get away from some friends I was with, to 
see you afterward, but could not until it was too late,” 
he says in French. “ I wanted to send you a message 
over the footlights, but feared it would make you ner- 
vous, so I determined to see you the first thing this morn- 
ing. How have you been ? Tell-me all about yourself.” 

“ I would if you were writing a sensational drama, 
but it would be a waste of time now. I’d rather hear, 
about you. You have not changed much since — since 
I saw you last. Do you remember the last time I saw 
you. Will? The day we caught your train at Louis- 
ville,” she says with a little quiver in her voice. 

Then, because he fears she will break down in the 
public dining-room, he asks, in English, about Marie 
and mutual friends, to take her mind away from herself. 

“That certainly was Miss Van Velssler. I wonder 
why she gave me the cut,” says the man at the table 
behind her, as she goes out with Will. 

“ That is the girl who took the ingenue part on the 


naval Cadet carlyle's glove. 263 

stage last evening,” says the man breakfasting with 
him. 

“ Oh, is that it ? Wonder who the stiff-looking cus- 
tomer is she received so gushingly.” 

Viva and Will go in an alcove shut off from the main 
parlor by lace curtains. 

“It is so pleasant to see you again,” she says after 
she has given him a brief sketch of her movements 
since he last saw her. “ What a long time it seems, and 
what I haven’t been through since then !” wearily. “ But 
there is no use in depressing you with my woes. Where 
do you go from here, and what are you doing in Balti- 
more, any way ?” 

“ I am ordered to report at Washington for instruc- 
tions, and I have been down to Annapolis. I could 
not go, you know, for the funeral, and I wanted to visit 
Charlie’s grave before I go on another cruise.” 

She turns and leans her arms on the back of her chair 
and bows her head upon them. 

“ I did not know, of course, where you were, but I 
knew that if you had known I was going you would 
have liked to send some flowers by me, so I took violets 
— you know you used to say in jest that violets suited 
his eyes and it was a pity that he could not always wear 
them even in the uniform, so he immediately formed a 
great admiration for them. Do you remember it was 
the anniversary of the day we met you for the first time 
at Riverside ? Perhaps I would not have remembered 
it, but he reminded me of it so often and said it was the 
happiest day of his life.” 

She chokes back the sobs and raises her head sud- 
denly. His hand is resting on the back of her chair; on 


264 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

the third finger is his class ring. How sharply it recalls 
the day in the little frame chapel that her handsome 
sweetheart put one like it on her hand. She feels keenly 
that she did not care for him enough. How noble he 
was! She would like to inflict some punishment on her- 
self for not loving him more. She leans forward and 
impulsively and humbly kisses the ring. Two scalding 
tears fall upon his hand. He is very much moved. 
He wishes she would not cry. He has a strong man’s 
horror of seeing a woman in tears. He does not know 
how to console her, but gently touches her bowed 
head. 

“ Is it the ring that reminds you so of him ? Where 
is yours?” 

“ I — it is gone.” He thinks she means she has lost it. 

“Do you want this one? Or may I have one made 
for you ? It would be of great pleasure to be of such 
slight service to you.” 

“ No, no ; I do not want it, ” she says as plainly as she 
can; her voice is very choked. “Please do not think 
me rude, I hardly know what I am saying — but you 
understand. I’m sure.” 

She gets up and walks to the'window. She cannot 
see out for the blinding tears that are in her eyes. 
Then she makes an effort to compose herself, and turn- 
ing, with a sad smile and holding out her hands, says: 
“ There, you will regret you ever saw me, if I continue 
to be so weak. If you go away this afternoon and I do 
not have another opportunity of seeing you, let me 
thank you now for all your kindness to me, and, believe 
me, your friendship is very sweet to me.” 

He presses her hands warmly without a word; holds 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 265 

the curtains aside for her to pass; watches her rush past 
the staring chambermaid ; then, with a sigh, turns to the 
window and gazes upon the rush and crowd and turmoil 
in the street below ; and there are tears in his eyes which 
are no disgrace to his manhood. 

In another part of the hotel, in the daintiest apart- 
ment in the house, is another daughter of the distin- 
guished Carrols. Mrs. Van Haughton Livingston is 
returning by very slow stages from the Virginia springs. 
They bore her intensely, but she considers it the duty to 
her race to go there every few years. 

“I am a Southerner, heart and soul," she said to a 
friend before leaving the springs this summer, “but 
Southern watering places, and especially Virginia ones, 
bore me, with their set rules and narrowmindedness. 
One hears the gossip she heard last year and the year 
before that, with a running comment of the scandals of 
the last fifty years. There is always some one in the 
crowd who was present at the scene in question — for in- 
stance, the Kenwood-Blake pow-wow, when Mrs. Ken- 
wood, one of the leaders of the most exclusive set in 
Baltimore, who allowed a little popinjay not much older 
than her son to hold her parasol over her on the veranda 
and assist at her parties in her cottage, was made to 

leave the hotel at Springs. The boy’s old mother, 

who, by the way, was painfully religious, was envious 
and jealous that a woman so near her own age should 
wear gowns made in the latest fashion and be so popular 
with young people, and went, with her large following 
of relatives, children, and nurses, who came every sum- 
mer to the springs, to the proprietor and told him if Mrs. 
Kenwood did not leave she and her set would. What 


266 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 


could a woman of refinement like Mrs. Kenwood do but 
leave quietly when told to? You may be sure the old 
woman, for all her religion, published her triumph far 
and wide, and the leading dailies came out with head- 
lines which said, ‘The Usual Scandal at Springs.’ 

And at another place a young mother had a very sick 
child; the other women concluded it was whooping- 
cough, and went to the proprietor en fnasse and said if 
she did not leave on the evening train they would. She 
left — thoroughly indignant, it is true — and refused to 
pay her bill, and said she would have her husband, a very 
bright young lawyer, settle with them; but go she did. 
No, on the whole, I prefer Newport to Virginia. Of 
course Old Point is always charming, but that is differ- 
ent; and this is positively my last season here. I like 
to come occasionally, as the Carrols have always come 

here for the summer, but ” 

Plildegarde Livingston is the eldest daughter of the 
late Robert Carrol, of Glenwood, South Carolina. At 
eighteen, before the family fortunes were at the last ebb, 
she went to visit a schoolmate in New York. She 
knew it was her last fling in the great world, that 
she would probably never have another such opportu- 
nity, and she determined to make the most of it. With 
youth, birth, and great beauty, she found things rather 
easier than she had dared to hope. Van Haughton 
Livingston, the multimillionaire, fell madly in love with 
her on sight. He was a dear old gentleman, with silky 
white hair, pink cheeks, the typical healthy color of a 
Northerner, and the kindest blue eyes. He always 
looked as if he was masquerading in nineteenth century 
clothes, and as if the lace ruffles and powdered hair of 


NAVAL CADET CATLYLE'S GLOVE. 267 

several generations ago would suit his courtly and old- 
fashioned manner better. They were very happy, 
though he was December and she May. He trusted 
her implicitly, and she looked up to him and relied 
wholly upon his superior judgment. She deeply and 
sincerely mourned his death; but at last woke up to the 
fact that she was the richest widow in New York, and 
no one knew how to enjoy money better than Hilde- 
garde Livingston. She always openly quarrelled with 
her first sister, and May — well, she used to be very fond 
-of May, but she had no patience with her, the sister 
who threw away her chances in life so wantonly. Of 
-course May’s beauty was a kind of doll type, not the 
sort to bring down a Van Haughton Livingston; still 
there were men who went in for the Greuze and Watteau 
style, and she might have married very well. Yes, she 
believed there was a child, but after the death of her 
rsister she lost sight altogether of Hugh Van Velssler 
■and his daughter. She sits in her room to-day and 
(congratulates herself that she has no charge to chap- 
<eron for the coming season. She has never had a child 
(of her own, but year after year some friend, comes for- 
ward with an old claim and begs her to chaperon his 
<or her daughter, and Mrs., Livingston, who is an ideal, a 
born chaperon, promises, though she knows it will give 
her no end of trouble — only she stipulates for one thing, 
her charge must have beauty. Her greatest passion is 
love for the beautiful, and she refuses to have her feel- 
ings wrought up by sitting opposite an ugly girl at 
breakfast for a whole season. No, this year she is free, 
and can ask what men she pleases to her dinners with- 
out stopping to consider whether they are detrimental 


26 S l^AVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

or not. There is that scapegrace cousin of hers, Val- 
entine Cross Carrol, of whom she is very fond, but she 
had to cut him nearly all last season because Katherine 
Mathews was so in love with him, and Katherine was 
obliged to make a good marriage. She glances over 
the society journals, which give a forecast of the 
season’s gayeties, and decides she will go on to New 
York to-morrow. Then rising, she rings the bell to 
order a carriage, and putting on her long fur coat goes 
down to the entrance. As she is about to get in the 
carriage, she stops and looks at an old man coming 
slowly down the street. A silk handkerchief is wrapped 
about his throat, and his thin overcoat is drawn up as 
high as possible. The wind blows the gray hair from 
his thin face under his hat, and he puts up a blue-veined 
hand and pulls the brim closer over his eyes, breathing 
with difficulty the biting air. She looks at him through 
her lorgnette; surely even after all these years she 
could not forget that face. When he is opposite to her, 
she says: 

“Reggie Vane, where did you come from?" 

He stops, looks at her; then a pretty flush mounts to 
his dear old face. He lifts his broad-brim hat, mark- 
ing him unmistakably a Southerner, and tremblingly 
takes the plump, well-gloved hand she holds out to him. 

“Well, I see time has not improved your powers of 
speech,’’ she says, almost impatiently. 

Somehow her conscience always hurt her when she 
thought of Reggie Vane, as she called him, and the 
heartbreaking letter he wrote her when he heard she 
was going to marry the New York millionaire. How 
young and strong he was then, and how very much older 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 269 

than she he seems now! Well, no doubt, this is what 
she would have come to if she had been as big a fool 
as her sister May. 

“Get in and drive with me,” she says. , “You need 
not think you can escape me now. I am going to hear 
what all the good people in the neighborhood of Glen- 
wood have been doing for the last thirty years.” 

“ I did not think news of your old home would inter- 
est you,” is all the mild reproof he offers as he obedi- 
ently gets in and tucks the fur rug about her. 

When she has thought very much about him, and now 
that she has looked into his worn, sweet, patient face 
again, she wonders if there is really more in this earth 
than“ is dreamed of in her philosophy,” viz., diamonds, 
carriages, horses, and a box at the opera. There is 
something about him that stirs her best impulses and 
makes her rather dread to look into his honest 
eyes. 

How strange it is to hear about people she has almost 
forgotten, but she enjoys it all immensely; it is almost 
a new sensation. 

After the drive Mrs. Livingston decides she would 
go to the theatre, and nothing will do but Judge 
Vane must occupy a seat in her box. 

“ I hope we will not be very much bored,” she says as 
the curtain goes up. “ Society plays are so often such 
absurd caricatures.” 

The first act is nearly over when Viva enters. Judge 
Vane looks at her; then again, to see if he can believe 
his eyes, drops his programme and Mrs. Livingston’s 
opera-glass case, and clasps his hands together. 

‘‘ It is Viva,” he says, half rising from his seat; then 


2 70 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

he grasps the glasses from Mrs. Livingston and trem- 
blingly adjusts them to his eyes. 

Mrs. Livingston looks at him half in amusement, half 
in disappointment. So he had another early romance, 
she thinks; or perhaps this young woman plays the part 
of heroine herself, she concludes, with all the Carrol 
suspicion. 

“How like you she is, Hildegarde; the same droop of 
the shoulders, the same haughty poise of the head. I 
always thought so, but the resemblance is striking now. 
On the stage! Poor little Viva!” 

Mrs. Livingston looks at him in well-bred surprise. 
It is not a love affair after all, then, only madness. 

“ Do you know the young woman ?” she asks politely. 

“She is Viva Van Velssler.” 

“Reggie Vane, what are you saying? May’s daugh- 
ter, my niece, a Carrol — how dreadful!” and she pales 
under her delicately applied rouge. 

“ I wondered why she had not written in so long — she 
was always such a good child. about writing,” he con- 
tinues almost to himself. 

Viva finished the scene ; it is her best one. Just as she 
is about to leave the stage an usher hands over the wire 
a basket of pink roses. The college boy, who is her 
stage lover, steps forward and receives the basket and 
presents it to her with his best bow. Before she looks 
at the characteristic straight-up-and-down writing on 
the card, she knows it is from Will. She wonders if he 
did not get off this afternoon, after all, and if he is in 
the audience; she glances over the house, smiles and 
slightly bends her head, and disappears in the wings. 

‘‘Your protegee seems to have an admirer on this side 


NAVAL’ CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 271 

of the footlights,” remarks Mrs. Livingston dryly, then 
droops her eyes when she reads the reproach in 
his. 

“ Help her, Hildegarde, as you say she is your niece 
and a Carrol, and the money you squander on flowers 
during a season would keep her in comfort. Take her 
out of this! She is young and beautiful, and you are 
woman of the world enough to know to what tempta- 
tions she will be exposed. Of course I would not pre- 
sume to ask you to let her live with you, but you have 
so much money and are pleased to subscribe large sums 
to fashionable charities, half of which would enable her 
to go abroad and study art. She has a great talent for 
that,” and in such a strain he goes on and pleads Viva’s 
cause, but under his eloquence there is a plaintive tone, 
as though he knows the hopelessness of trying to move 
her. Did he not try — oh, so hard, long ago — when his 
eyes were lighted with the fire and passion of youth, and 
his voice mellow and ringing with the earnestness of a 
great love? Perhaps it is because of that other failure - 
which seems to haunt her to-night, just as he appears 
to be the ghost of that young lover, that she listens so 
well. The glittering opera-house, with its elegantly 
dressed women and men of fashion, fades from her sight. 
She wonders what her life would have been had she 
chosen that other way — well, surely she has nothing to 
complain of, if she has missed anything in this world 
she is only vaguely conscious of it. 

“ Go back and tell her to come to me after the play,” 
she says. 

“Thank God!” he answers, dropping his face in his 
hands. 


272 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

It cost Mrs. Livingston a pretty penny to persuade 
the manager he could do without the services of Miss 
Lee for the rest of her engagement, but managers have 
their price as well as the rest of the world, and a week 
later sees Viva domiciled in the splendid pile of gray- 
stone on Fifth Avenue, New York, that Mrs. Living- 
ston calls home. 


CHAPTER XXL 


Mrs. Livingston is very glad that she showed Reg- 
gie Vane she can be touched, and adopted this beauti- 
ful niece of hers; it will be better than leaving her 
immense wealth to a charity. And the girl will be such 
a credit to her — her other charges were nothing to her, 
after all, and the only interest she took in them was to 
have it said that under her chaperonage and manage- 
ment the most brilliant match of the season had been 
made. But, alas, they always disappointed her at the 
critical moment ! There was Ella Hudson, who allowed 
Harry Ellsmere to slip through her fingers after people 
had begun to regard it as an understood thing and to 
congratulate her openly ; and his marriage, which was 
almost an elopement, it was so sudden, with that de- 
signing widow at the end of the season was nothing 
short of disgraceful. The next year Ella was a dead 
failure, and showed by her looks and her carelessness in 
dress that she was pining for him, and consequently 
received absolutely no attention at all, and was sent 
home in disgrace. Then there was Tottie Hewit, who 
actually could have gotten old Van Martin, and whom 
the arch enemy Mrs. Cruger was wild to catch for 
Olive, and it would have settled old scores so satisfac- 
torily to have captured the prize. But that hopeless 
Tottie eloped with her music teacher just before the last 
Patriarchs’ ball, which was to have been the field upon 
which the Cruger faction was to be utterly routed, 
x 3 273 


2 74 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


And instead of starving, as she ought to be, and a les- 
son to other foolish girls, that irrepressible Tottie is 
living happily in a bijou little uptown flat, and her 
husband has just composed an opera which, they say, has 
created a stir in musical circles. And last year there 
was Katherine Mathews, who was such a goose about 
Valentine Carrol, and whom every one sympathized 
with so absurdly when she was made to marry old 
Stevens. Well, that “yes,” which was almost a shriek, 
from the white, trembling lips of the bride at the altar, 
and the sight of the poor little creature, who fell in a 
dead faint, crushing her bridal finery, as soon as the 
ceremony was over, and who had to be carried out by 
the best man, since the groom was too feeble, rather 
disturbs Hildegarde Livingston’s conscience sometimes. 
What a pow-wow there was in the clubs about it! Well, 
the chaperon did her duty — old Stevens was the highest 
bidder, and the gushing epistle, filled with protesta- 
tions of everlasting gratitude, frorn the mother of the 
bride ought to have been enough to gratify the vanity 
of any chaperon. She will give Viva carte blanche to 
spend what money she pleases, and her taste seems to 
be good. Her only suggestion was not to fall into the 
way of so many Southern girls, and have her street 
gowns cut out in the neck. Anything but the highest 
collars and the plainest of tailor-made gowns for the 
street pains Mrs. Livingston beyond expression, and 
even causes her to experience actual indignation against 
the wearer. The little octagon room on the second 
floor, which has been used for a reading-room, she will 
give her for her own den, where her most intimate 
friends can be received, away from the publicity of the 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


275 


lower drawing-rooms and the library. She will see what 
Viva’s taste is in furnishing it — no expense shall be 
spared, certainly. Every girlish caprice shall be grati- 
fied — Mrs. Livingston never does anything half-way, 
and if it pleases her to squander a small fortune upon 
this new toy, who is to say her nay? She is passing 
the Union Club: there is Jack Montague going in. He 
is the cleverest cotillon leader in the swell set — just the 
man Viva must know. She has met very few people 
yet. Of course she must get accustomed to her new life 
first, and, all-important item, must have the proper 
gowns in which to appear as Mrs. Van Haughton Liv- 
ingston’s niece. She gives the cord a sudden pull and 
the carriage stops. 

“Tell Mr. Montague I want to speak to him,” she 
says through the tube to the footman, and he springs 
to the ground and succeeds in catching Mr. Montague 
just as the door is about to close behind him. 

“ How do you do ? ” says Mrs. Livingston, graciously, 
extending her hand. “ I have been in town two weeks, 
and you have not been to see me ?” 

“ I have not had an opportunity to do so yet, but I 
will avail myself of the pleasure very soon, you may be 
sure.” 

“Have you an engagement for to-night? If not 
come and dine with me and meet my niece, Miss Van 
Velssler,” and Mrs. Livingston proceeds delicately to 
convey the idea that Viva’s proper guardian has re- 
cently died and she has been in retirement, under Mrs. 
Livingston’s protection, until now, when her mourning 
is laid aside and she is ready to be presented to society. 

“ He is going into the club and will spread it, and just 


276 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

as well that report as any; and if I do not furnish them 
with one, they will manufacture one which probably will 
not suit me so well,” she sagely concludes. 

“ It would be a pressing engagement indeed that 
would prevent me from dining with Mrs. Livingston. 
The pleasantest evenings of the season are spent at her 
house,” he says, gallantly. 

“Very well, we dine at eight, and will be alone,” as 
she hurriedly dismisses him and draws back in the car- 
riage. Not a dozen feet away is Valentine Carrol, and 
he must be made to understand that he has not the entree 
to the magnificent house on Fifth Avenue this season. 
How handsome he looks, she thinks, as he lifts his hat 
and mockingly accepts his cut. Yes, it is too bad, but 
he would gain too easy a footing as Viva’s cousin, she de- 
cides; and what woman thrown in close contact with Val- 
entine Cross Carrol could resist his fascinations? She 
sighs when she thinks what a picture those two, Valen- 
tine and Viva, would make, and is almost tempted for 
art’s sake to be false to her creeds and to smile upon 
their union, and divide her money between them. But 
no. Viva shall redeem her failures in the chaperoning 
line for past seasons, and — well, who knows but that she 
might catch Underwood himself.^ that target for matri- 
monial arrows for the last ten years. Viva need not 
marry an old man for his money; she need not marry 
at all for years; she can, with her beauty, position, 
and as heiress prospective to the Livingston millions — 
her fancy goes off into delicious flights. 

“ I say, fellows, what sort of a filly has my lady got 
up for sale this year?” says Valentine, entering the 
§moking-room of the club. “ I thought she had sworn 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 277 

off. She billed herself last year as ‘positively her last 
appearance’ in the rSle of chaperon.” 

“ She ought to have retired on her laurels after the 
Mathews-Stevens marriage,” says one of them, in 
disgust. 

“ This one must be something especial,” continues 
Valentine, hurriedly. “ If you could have seen the look 
with which she froze my young blood just now ! It was 
the worst I ever got, and I think I am hardened to my 
lady’s cuts. Have any of you seen the last article, and 
about what price will be affixed ?” 

“Jove! Wonder if it could have been the girl she 
had in the park with her yesterday ? She was a beauty,” 
says a man with his feet in the window. 

“Here comes Montague — he can tell us about it,” 
says Valentine, as he rings for a brandy and soda. 

“ Come, Montie, give us the news. What is my lady 
up to this year?” calls little Van Courtenay, using the 
name the fellows have given Mrs, Livingston on account 
of her grande dame manners and haughty bearing. 

“ I don’t know, except that I am invited to dinner 
to-night to meet her niece and adopted daughter, who 
seems to have been left in her care, and who has just 
come out of mourning for her father or guardian or 
something, I did not quite catch what ; and my lady is 
going to spare no pains to make her a howling success. 
If I like her looks. I’ll ask her to lead the first of the 
Sherry dances with me.” 

Valentine gives a prolonged whistle. 

“ Are you sure she said her niece. Montie ?” he asks. 
Mr. Montague nods his head, with a glass of seltzer 
raised to his lips. “ Did you say the name is Van Vels- 


278 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

sler? Oh, that must be my cousin, May Carrol’s daugh- 
ter,” knitting his brows and trying to brush up his 
memory on the family history. “ She ran away with an 
artist or something like that and the family kicked up 
a mischief of a row. So my lady has adopted the 
daughter ; well, she will do the handsome thing by her.” 

“ Yes, no doubt, until she grows tired of her,” growls 
the man in the window. One would think he had a 
grudge against the most charming hostess in Gotham. 
Well, they do say he liked Katherine Stevens — but 
fudge, people will gossip, you know. 

“ Well, my friends, if any of you happen to meet my 
fair young kinswoman, please let her know that it is not 
lack of cousinly interest that I do not pay my respects 
to her, but because I am labelled detrimental and am 
warned ‘hands off,’ ” as he saunters to the other end of 
the room, picks up a paper, and apparently loses him- 
self in its pages. “ Now, I would like to know the 
truth of this new move of my queenly cousin. I’d bet 
my new coupd that when she went South she did not 
remember the existence of this girl, for she took a most 
loving leave of me, and said she would be delightfully 
free this season, and that I could look upon her house 
as my headquarters, so to speak. Yet she tells Monta- 
gue she has had the idea in view a long time. Thy ways 
are mysterious, oh, my cousin Hildegarde,” he thinks. 

“ Val is in hard luck,” says one of them. “As soon 
as he trains a young woman to dance decently and to 
carry on a conversation about something else than her 
ddbut and her first gown with a tail, and makes her gen- 
erally the fashion, and one begins not to shudder when 
one is told one has to take her to dinner, he has to va- 


Naval cadet carlylns glove, 279 

cate, for fear Miss Bud will become too much interested. 
Yes; then when Miss Bud’s wedding is fully arranged, 
Val is sent for, forgiven, asked to assist at the wedding 
to give it tone and stop the gossips from connecting his 
name with the bride’s, and is expected to come down 
handsomely with a wedding present, to show there are 
no hard feelings.” 

“ Yet I’d give all I am worth to be Valentine Carrol,” 
says Van Courtenay, casting an admiring glance at Val, 
whose superb figure is stretched out on a lounge, one 
hand supporting his handsome head. 

‘‘ He does seem to play smash with the women. They 
go down before him provokingly easy. I tell you one 
thing, my boys, if ever I am insane enough to become a 
Benedict, for the sake.of my domestic peace I’ll take 
care to limit my courtesies to Valentine Carrol to club 
dinners,” says Jack Montague as he tucks his arm in 
Van Courtenay’s and takes him off for a stroll down 
Broadway. 

Viva sits in the “den,” which her aunt wisely left to 
her to furnish — and in all New York there is not a 
daintier boudoir. The walls are hung in pale-green 
satin brocade, with a silver thread running through it. 
Across the ceiling is painted a tangle of silver grape- 
vine, with countless, frolicking cupids playing hide-and- 
seek among the leaves. The panels of the doors are 
painted with her own brush — Cupids brewing a jar of 
love, and driving white swans over meadows of opal 
and rosy sky. The furniture is Louis XIV. style, and 
of white satinwood inlaid with old ivory, upholstered 
with the same brocade as the walls. In a space between 
the windows is an upright piano of white satinwood, 


28 o 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


beside which stands a tall lamp of bright silver; oppo- 
site is a dainty writing-desk, with a litter of solid silver 
pens, tray, inkstand, paper-knife, a tiny silver lamp to 
melt her sealing-wax, and the countless pretty nothings 
that go to make up the writing paraphernalia of a 
dainty woman of fashion. In front of the desk is a 
Madame de Maintenon chair, the stiff, straight back of 
which is carved ivory, with a huge rose on the highest 
point, in the centre of which cuddles a shivering Cupid, 
with the ivory leaves pulled up about his dimpled legs. 
There is a low divan, upon and about which are piled a 
quantity of eiderdown pillows, with occasionally a pine 
one, to lend a fragrance. The floor is covered with 
white velvet carpet, through which runs a silver leaf. 
White bearskin rugs are scattered about. Everything 
in the apartment is gay, bright, and dainty; even the 
nymphs which support the white onyx mantel are stand- 
ing on tiptoe and laughing, as though about to express 
their pleasure in assisting in such a dainty enseitihle. 
On a table are a few of her favorite poems bound in 
white, and the picture of a man in the naval uniform in 
a silver frame. 

“Are you here. Viva?” says Mrs. Livingston, push- 
ing aside the heavy white portieres and entering. 

“Yes, I have been too deep in my book to think of 
dressing. Do you want me to go driving?” dragging 
forward an easy-chair for her before the pretty wood 
fire. 

“ No, I want to tell you about the dinner party I am 
going to send out invitations for — just a few guests to 
be invited. My plan of keeping you back these last 
weeks has been excellent. Jack Montague says that 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 281 

when he is at the clubs he is actually mobbed and be- 
sieged with questions about you until he is exhausted. 
Now, I am inviting the men most desirable for you to 
know, and nearly all the girls are pretty. It will not 
be like the first Cruger dinner to Olive — all of the ugli- 
est girls possible invited, to make Olive look well and 
make a good first impression ; and she sent Olive out 
to dinner with Chester Underwood, as if a man like 
that would notice Olive, a silly butterfly girl, without an 
ounce of brains. He never noticed her afterward ex- 
cept in that cold, indifferent, yet perfectly courteous 
way of his when he met her. And after making such a 
decided set at him, it was annoying,” with a smile at 
the humiliation of her old enemy. “ Olive Cruger is 
the only girl who could be called homely I have asked — 
I have also written to Jack Montague, of course; Regi- 
nald Van Courtenay, and a few of the Knickerbocker 
men, and” — a slight hesitation — “Chester Under- 
wood.” 

Viva gazes meditatively at the point of her white 
satin house-shoe, edged with swansdown. “ Evidently 
Chester Underwood is the man,” she thinks, sagely. 
Aloud she says: “Who is Mr. Underwood, auntie?” 

“ He is the Senator-elect from New York ; goes in office 
in March. He is the most charming man I know” — 
“except that wretched Valentine,” she adds mentally — 
“ and the most indifferent. Nearly every girl of his ac- 
quaintance worships him in secret. It would take a very 
bold young woman indeed to break through that calm 
hauteur and flatter him to his face, and keep his 
photograph, which can be bought at the photographers’, 
with the other public men, on her bureau. And a few 


282 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 


young women, a little more daring than the rest, have 
asked him to write his name on the bottom of the card, 
which he carelessly proceeded to do. He distinctly 
says he is not a marrying man and does not care for 
society — that is, for society’s sake; he likes to go to the 
houses of his friends, but he intends to devote his life 
to politics. And he is that latter-day wonder, a man 
who has the interest of his country at heart, more 
than the consideration of the votes of his constituents. 
He has gained his enormous popularity step by step, by 
his steadfastness, worthiness, and statesmanship, and 
not by a sudden bound and burst of brilliant oratory 
which sweeps his hearers off their feet against their bet- 
ter judgment, and consequently he will last. He has 
gone to the United States Senate to stay until he gets 
tired of it. Every one knows I have not had an oppor- 
tunity to entertain him since I chaperoned his box party 
given to his niece at the close of last season. I am 
sorry to claim him for dinner, but in view of the Cruger 
failure, and since he will be the most distinguished man 
present, he falls the legal prey of the hostess. In fact, 
I am asking the Crugers to show them how an affair of 
this kind should be conducted.” 

Viva laughs as she twists the cord on her morning- 
gown. 

“ The poor Crugers,” she says. “ Not knowing their 
awful crime, I can almost find it in my heart to feel 
sorry for them.” 

“I will take care to place you opposite him,” thinks 
Mrs. Livingston. “ Lily Cruger would have made the 
mistake of putting Olive beside him, if some one had 
told her he must go with her herself. So few women 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


283 


know how to manage these delicate affairs is the reason 
they have old maids on their hands. There is no reason 
why every girl, no matter how homely, should not 
marry, when the men are as easily flattered and caught 
as they are. It only takes a little tact. This dinner 
will be an opening for her actual presentation to society 
at the first Patriarchs’ ball on the twelfth of December. 
I think her judgment is as good as her taste; she lis- 
tened very attentively about Underwood, and I need 
not have cut poor Valentine so entirely. I’ll ask him 
to my crush later on, if everything goes well. There is 
no one I enjoy as much as I do Val. I actually pine to 
hear one of his delicious stories — oh, if he were not so 
dreadfully fascinating, what an assistance he could be 
to me at this dinner!” 

It is the evening of Mrs. Livingston’s dinner party. 
Already a few guests have arrived. Mrs. Cruger and 
her daughter were the first to come. 

“Came early, to see what was going on! As if I did 
not have sense enough to mask my batteries, if she 
thought she could discover my tactics by watching,” 
thinks Mrs. Livingston amusedly as she turns to wel- 
come Mr. Van Courtenay, who is being announced. 

Mrs. Livingston is looking her best to-night. She 
scents battle from afar and longs to enter the fray. 
Already the Cruger forces look crestfallen when they 
look on Viva’s splendid young beauty. Hildegarde 
Livingston always appears best when entertaining in 
her own home. Her gown is of rich purple velvet, cut 
out at the throat, which is the envy of half her girl ac- 
quaintances; her perfect hands and arms are bare to 
the elbow; her full gray hair is piled high on her aristo- 


284 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

cratically poised head. She looks like a bisque mar- 
chioness, or as though made up for a poudre tete^ with her 
white hair, young face and startlingly black brows. A 
huge diamond crescent gleams amidst the pulfs of her 
hair. Viva is standing a little way off talking to Jack 
Montague. Her gown is of heavy white silk, about 
which is some silky fringe effect, which gives it a foamy 
appearance. She holds a bouquet of Parma violets in her 
hand. The short puffs, which answer for sleeves, would 
be trying to a less perfect arm. Her only jewel is a 
slender bracelet with a pearl heart for a clasp, which 
her intimate friends say she has never been known to 
take off. Ah, the critical moment has arrived! Mr. 
Underwood is announced. Mrs. Cruger pricks up her 
ears and almost pushes the man she is talking to out of 
the way to gain a- place of vantage. 

“How do you do, Mr. Underwood?” Mrs. Livingston 
says. “ Your time is so much taken up I hardly hoped 
my note would find you disengaged for this evening,” 
as he bows before her with unaffected grace. 

“ Mrs. Livingston’s invitations are a pleasure which 
cannot be resigned easily,” he says, and somehow the 
words do not seem like the usual conventionalities. 

There is a gravity, a dignity, about him that tells one 
he does not condescend to pay the empty compliments 
that men of fashion scatter broadcast. He is tall, well 
built, and seems to have a wonderful reserve force about 
him that warns one not to be mistaken in the outward 
calm. His hair is dark brown and slightly gray at the 
temples and pushed back from the well-developed brow. 
His grave eyes are brown, and are mirrors which reflect 
his pure and perfect manhood. Mrs. Livingston looks 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 285 

at him admiringly. No wonder the women go into a 
sort of hero worship of him, she thinks. 

‘'Permit me to present you to my niece,” she says, 
and advances a few paces toward Viva, who is still talk- 
ing to Jack. “Viva, Mr. Underwood; my niece, Miss 
Van Velssler.” 

Viva lowers her bouquet from her lips, raises her eyes 
to his face, bows, and murmurs a polite nothing. Mrs. 
Livingston turns to speak to the last arrival. Pretty 
little Pearl Martain, quite a favorite of Mr. Underwood, 
strikes him on the arm with her fan. 

“ Am I not to be spoken to at all ? ” she says, with a 
pretty pout, and he turns and smiles in her upturned 
piquante face. 

Viva, seeing he is engaged, continues her conversa- 
tion with Jack as though the aspiration of every debutante 
for the last ten years has not just been presented to her, 
and is standing within easy call. 

“Admirable!” thinks Mrs. Livingston, as she com- 
placently waves her fan and listens to Mr. Van Courte- 
nay’s rhapsodies about Viva, as he hovers near, on the 
principle, “If not the rose, near her.” “She has all the 
sense I credited her with,” continues Mrs. Livingston, 
mentally. “ Such a comfort to chaperon, for once, a 
girl who is such excellent form. What a sensation she 
will create! Jack Montague, an experienced clubman, 
is already her devoted friend; this little idiot,” meaning 
Van Courtenay, “in love on sight, and never did I see 
such a look of interest and admiration in Underwood’s 
eyes as when he looked at her.” 

Van Courtenay is made Mrs. Livingston’s slave for 
life by being alloweci to take Viva out to dinner. A§ 


286 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

they go through the hall, Mrs. Cruger contrives to whis- 
per to her daughter: “ It is Van Courtenay, after all. 
Ask Underwood to be of our box party Thursday even- 
ing — take no refusal.” 

Mrs. Livingston outshines herself to-night. She has 
inherited the Carrol gift of repartee, and the brilliant 
young Senator-elect has to put forth his best mental 
efforts to keep up with her; and when Chester Under- 
wood talks in that low musical voice of his on a subject 
so near his heart as politics, and to a listener as appre- 
ciative as Hildegarde Livingston, he could fascinate 
the sphinx. Viva leans forward once or twice and an- 
swers him, and he is surprised at the clearness and 
decision of her well-pointed remarks. Most young 
women, knowing his interest for politics, ask him, with 
pretty pleading, to tell them “all about it,” and explain 
what he thinks on such a question, and listen with parted 
lips, understanding as much as if he had been talking 
Greek. This tall, beautiful girl with the wonderful 
eyes interests him strangely. Once or twice when Mrs. 
Livingston is making her most telling point, she finds 
his clear brown eyes fixed meditatively on Viva, who is 
allowing Mr. Van Courtenay to explain to her why the 
Princeton men defeated the Harvard football team this 
afternoon. 

In the drawing-room afterward Viva goes to the piano, 
followed by Mr. Van Courtenay, who refuses to stir 
from her side. She plays exquisitely. To-night she does 
not use her music, but just allows herself to drift from 
her favorite parts of one piece to another, as a sort of 
accompaniment to her conversation. Mr. Underwood 
draws near the piano ; she smiles, and her playing be- 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 287 

comes more brilliant after that. She wonders herself 
wh)^ she drops the dreamy melody she is playing and 
dashes into one of Rubinstein’s concertos. At last she 
turns on the stool and picks up her bouquet. 

“ It is too bad the most beautiful flowers there are 
cannot last a whole evening without fading,” she says. 

“Then violets are your favorite flowers ?” says Mr. 
Van Courtenay, and he mentally makes a note of the 
fact, and inwardly vows her toilet-table shall not be 
without them as long as there is a violet to be had in 
New York. 

“Yes, I am very fond of them; but I fear I will have 
to abandon the idea of wearing them — they fade too 
soon.” 

“‘What is recalled by faded flowers, save that they do 
not last?’” murmurs Van Courtenay, whereupon Jack, 
who is talking to Miss Martain near by, puts up his 
glass and looks at him with surprise mingled with ad- 
miration. 

“What a joke to tell the fellows! Van Courtenay 
actually risen to the heights of poetry ! Who ever heard 
of his quoting from anything but ‘The Sporting Life’ 
before,’’ thinks Jack, as he agrees with Miss Martain 
that the football game this afternoon was just too lovely 
for anything. 

Mr. Underwood is the first to take his departure, 
pleading an engagement. He makes his adieu to Mrs. 
Livingston and then returns to Viva, who is still sitting 
at the piano. 

“ I want to thank you for your exquisite music as I 
say good evening to you. Miss Van Velssler,” he says. 
“ Music is one of my greatest pleasures. Will you let 


288 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


me come some afternoon when you are disengaged and 
enjoy another such treat?" 

“ I will be pleased to see you any afternoon — we are 
always at home on Thursdays. I enjoy playing for one 
who appreciates music; it is an inspiration." 

He bows before her and reluctantly turns away. Van 
Courtenay sees that Underwood has made a hit on the 
music question, and immediately begs for another piece, 
“knowing no more about music than a rabbit," as Jack 
said afterward ; but she rises and says she will not play 
any more to-night. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


After the theatre the reading-rooms of the Union 
are almost filled. The Livingston dinner seems to be 
a general topic of interest. They are all curious to 
know what my lady is keeping her last protegee in the 
dark so completely for. Her charges are usually 
brought out with a flare of trumpets at the first of the 
season, to get a good start, and are entered for any 
stakes in sight. Jack is hailed with delight as he enters 
the room. 

“Hello, Montie, come in and unburden yourself at 
once, and do not let us have to extract information from 
you piecemeal. As the little Martain girl says, ‘Tell us 
all about it,’” calls out Travers. 

“Was Underwood invited?” asks a man at the fire- 
place. 

“ As well ask if the gas was lighted, or if they served 
champagne! Of course Underwood was invited,” 
growls the man who usually sits at the window, and 
who occupies his same place to-night, though the cur- 
tains are drawn and he faces the other way. 

“Yes, Underwood was there; and if my lady has her 
claws spread for that game, they are cleverly hidden.” 

“Trust her for that,” says the Growler. “There is 
nothing rank about her moves, a la Cruger; she is 
subtle, she is.” 

“Well,” continues Jack, when one of them eager to 
19 289 


290 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

hear the rest has shut the Growler up, “little Van 
Courtenay is gone — completely bowled over at the first 
shot. Actually grew maudlin and quoted poetry, and 
I never heard him mention horse once.” 

“You don’t say?” says Travers, after the laughter 
has subsided. “Ye gods, what a picture! Fancy Van 
quoting poetry! I’ll never forgive my lady for depriv- 
ing me of such a sight; no, never.” 

“ Now, good people, I hope you will be able to restrain 
curiosity until the Patriarchs’ ball, when Miss Van 
Velssler makes her formal debut ^ and I prophesy for her 
the most brilliant success ever made by a young woman 
on her presentation to New York society,” which remark 
is repeated by Travers in a cafe later in the evening, in 
the hearing of a society reporter, and is duly written up 
in the society sheet the next day; and coming from such 
a man as Jack Montague, Viva’s* success is assured. 
The lesser lights always follow Jack’s lead. 

A man was just on the point of entering when this 
conversation was taking place, but he stood for a second 
at the door and then turned away. 

“Was that Valentine?” asked Travers. 

“ I did not see,” says Jack, and the figure in the hall 
quickens his pace and disappears through the front door. 

“ Now, I’d give my head to know if that indifference 
was a. piece of acting,” thinks Jack as he idly knocks 
the billiard balls around; “if so, it was the cleverest 
thing in that line I ever witnessed. Fancy a young 
woman in her senses telling Chester Underwood, when 
he asks her if he may come some afternoon to hear her 
play, that her day is Thursday, when all the world is 
present, instead of naming ap especial day in the near 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 291 

future, and being not at home to any one else, and re- 
ceiving him in a dim religious light, productive of senti- 
ment, and in her most fetching gown. I wonder he did 
not fall on the floor from the sheer shock. I think this 
little matter will be worth the watching. My lady was 
human, after all, and could not help the little gleam of 
triumph in her eyes as she bade us good-night. Under- 
wood the Invincible weakening at the preliminary skir- 
mish — what a feather in her cap!” 

The large ballroom at Delmonico’s is crowded with 
the fashionable set. The first Patriarchs’ ball is in 
progress. The tiaras of the chaperons, who are as near 
the dancers as possible, gleam and flash in the brilliant 
light like a series of tiny rainbows, and are worth a 
kingdom. The gowns are superb, and will quite rack 
the brains of those young women, the society reporters, 
to describe. How crisp and fresh the tulles and laces 
look at the first ball of the season — just out of their 
Paris boxes. They are as beautiful as the illusions of 
the debutantes — will the one be as crushed and ruined as 
the other is soiled and crumpled at the end of the season ? 
The committees have surpassed themselves — everything, 
from the decorations to the dainty dance-cards, is as 
perfect as wealth and excellent taste can make it. Life 
is seemingly a beautiful dream to those votaries of 
fashion as they whirl over the perfect floor. If there is 
a worm in the bud, it is carefully concealed amid the 
perfumed leaves. 

Mrs. Livingston is standing at the lower end of the 
room; old Peter Van Dyke has just turned away from 
her to speak to one of the floor committee. 


292 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

“ Is my queenly cousin still disposed to banish her 
most faithful subject from the light of her presence, or 
will she condescend to forgive him for his unknown 
crime?” says Valentine Carrol, bowing his handsome 
head in mock humility, 

Mrs. Livingston would forgive him almost any crime 
to-night, so handsome he looks in his evening dress, 
with a delicate spray of lilies of the valley in his button- 
hole. She thinks he is the most perfect type of manly 
beauty she ever saw. 

“How do you do, Valentine? I am delighted to see 
you again. Where have you been lately? I did not 
seq you during the chrysanthemum show at all.” 

“ I have been in retirement, meditating on my mis- 
deeds.” 

“ If you had meditated on half of them, you would 
have been in retirement still,” she answers. 

“ I must congratulate you upon the success your 
handsome niece has attained. She is perfect,” he says, 
looking at Viva in admiration as she passes with her 
partner, and is stopped not far from them by Van 
Courtenay, who asks to see her dance-card. “ That 
cloud of green tulle is just the thing for a woman with 
a gleam of red in her hair to wear. That tiny square 
revealing the white chest and the arch of the shoulders 
is bewitching. The contour of cheek, chin, throat, and 
shoulder is perfect.” 

“ Do you really think so ?” says Mrs. Livingston with 
evident delight, yet a trifle uneasily. “ How handsome 
and mocking the wretch looks! What if he should take 
it into his head— but nonsense, Viva is possessed of all 
the Carrol sense. No danger of the women of the Carrol 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 293 

family making fools of themselves, if the peccadilloes of 
the men do have to be glossed over and regarded with 
the eye of charity,” she continues. “ A compliment from 
the greatest connoisseur of feminine beauty in town can- 
not but be appreciated. Ves, her shoulders and well- 
rounded chin stamp her unmistakably a Carrol. Val, 
I have fancied sometimes I saw a resemblance to you.” 

He laughs a low, amused laugh. 

“My dear cousin, before I was your slave; now I 
dedicate my life to you. Perhaps you would be pleased 
to know what that most indifferent of men to the charms 
of the fair sex said about her,” stopping and Igoking at 
her wickedly, knowing she is sure he means Underwood, 
and that she is consumed with curiosity but determined 
not to show it. 

“Yes? And who is that?” she asks as indifferently 
as possible. 

“Dolly Wilmer fluttered up to Underwood in the 
punchroom just now, and bringing herself, with all her 
dazzling charms, rather startlingly near him, asked him 
who is the prettiest girl in the room, confident of his 
answer. But Underwood is more than human; he re- 
sisted the fairylike Dolly and said without hesitation, 
‘Miss Van Velssler. ’” 

Mrs. Livingston coughs behind her fan, and bows to 
the crowded end of the room, to avoid answering. 

“ Come and meet Viva,” she says with sudden gener- 
osity. “ You will find her as charming as she is beauti- 
ful. Viva, let me introduce to you our cousin, Valentine 
Carrol; you have heard me speak of him, I am sure,” 
stopping Viva and Mr. Van Courtenay in the promenade. 

Viva has a difficulty to repress a smile when she thinks 


294 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


how Mrs. Livingston has spoken of her handsome 
young kinsman. She looks at him, sees the delight he 
takes in the situation, and impulsively gives him her 
hand; she is sure she will like him; she always gets 
along with people who have a keen sense of the ridicu- 
lous. 

“We will be good friends, I am sure,” she says. 

“Is there room on your card for my name?” he asks, 
bending and taking up her programme, which is attached 
to her bouquet. 

“I will make room for it,” she says, drawing her 
pencil through a name. 

Van Courtenay devoutly hopes it is not his dance she 
has sacrificed. She holds the card and shows Valentine 
the number; he is a trifle back of her, and as he bends 
his head to look at the card his dark mustache almost 
brushes the rose in her hair. 

“ The fifth; why that is this dance,” she says. 

He smiles and puts his arm about her and they whirl 
off, leaving Mrs. Livingston and Mr. Van Courtenay 
looking rather gloomily after them. Mrs. Livingston 
is greatly annoyed; it seems almost ominous her go- 
ing off in that way, just as Chester Underwood has 
pushed his way through the crowd and was about to 
speak to her. Val is bending his head and saying some- 
thing to Viva; she laughs and looks back at Mrs. 
Livingston as they turn in the waltz, and then they are 
lost to view in the crowd. 

The chaperons lean toward each other and whisper 
behind their fans as the evening advances, and Chester 
Underwood, who does not dance himself, is seen beside 
Viva between almost every dance. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 295 

“Underwood is sidetracked,” says Travers soffo voce 
to Jack Montague as they pass each other in the supper- 
room. 

“ Thanks for the implied compliment. An infant 
could not have been forgiven for not seeing that two 
weeks ago,” says Jack as he guides his partner through 
the crush. 

During the next few weeks Chester Underwood’s 
trap is seen very often standing in front of the Living- 
ston home. Mrs. Livingston is in a fever of delight, yet 
annoyed. What earthly bliss does not have its bitter 
leaven ? Valentine Carrol is the thorn in her side. He 
is constantly with Viva, who never fails to make room 
for him beside her on a sofa, or when she is at the tea- 
table pouring Russian tea into dainty Sevres cups for 
the gay world on Thursday afternoon at Mrs. Living- 
ston’s “ at homes. ” Sometimes Hildegarde Livingston, 
watching them across the room, thinks there is an under- 
standing between them. What a terror to mammas, 
chaperons, to say nothing of ancient husbands, that 
reprobate Valentine has been! Yet he can hardly be 
blamed, she thinks, for women falling in love with him. 
He does nothing but say the same pretty things hun- 
dreds of other men say without doing any harm; it is 
his fatal beauty and charm. How on earth Valentine 
Carrol lives in the style he does is a subject that society 
has long since grown tired of speculating over. A fes- 
tive clubman said he draws his income straight from 
Mephisto, whose special agent he is; but possibly no one 
but Val and his frjends the Jews know. Of course he 
knows it must end some day. Well, when that time 
comes, one’s revolver is always convenient. That way is 


296 NAVAL CADET CARLYLN S GLOVE. 

sudden, and there is no danger of their dragging one 
back and forcing one to apologize to one’s friends for 
the trouble one put them to; but now the world is his, 
and he means to get all the pleasure possible out of it 
that youth, beauty, position, and popularity can com- 
mand. 

It is the day of the Country Club meet. The grounds 
are filled with the gay cavalcade and the drags and 
coaches of those who have come to see them off. A 
great many of the festive huntsmen look very nervously 
at their restless steeds; and even the fact that “ it is the 
correct thing to do, dontcher know,” and that Poole is 
responsible for their pink coats and perfectly fitting 
trousers, does not compensate them for the awful dread 
that overtakes them when a fence is in sight. The 
women under a still greater excitement show it less, and 
laugh and chatter with a vivacity that would be consid- 
ered bad form in their lesser sisters. Viva is on a 
splendid black horse. “ I adore dark men and black 
horses,” she has been heard to say. She looks well in 
the severe habit and silk hat. . She bows to the party 
on Chester Underwood’s coach; and as her horse is 
growing so restless, she lets him canter down the drive. 
Mr. Underwood is the victim of a sprained wrist, from 
the effects of a fall on the ice last week, and cannot 
follow the hounds to-day. 

“How is ma belle cousineT' says Valentine, bringing 
his horse up beside her. “The question is just a force 
of habit ; you are the picture of health and contentment. ” 

“ Contentment is too poor a word — I am never so near 
perfect happiness as when I am in the saddle. Isn’t he 
in splendid form ?” patting the neck of her hunter. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 297 

“What a farce these drag hunts are! I’ll wager that 
there are not eight in this crowd to-day who follow 
because they like it, but because the rest of us do. It 
is so different at home. I always speak of South Caro- 
lina as home; it is the only one I ever knew. There we 
ride because we like it, and there is no ‘dropping the 
foxes.’ We scorn to hunt any but wild ones, and we 
think more of being in at the death and the run we are 
to have than we do of our saddles and habits and of 
sitting just according to the riding-master’s directions. 
There is poor Mr. Van Courtenay pale with fright, and 
who would give a goodly part of his wealth if he were 
safe at home, but who is possessed of a fortitude worthy 
a better cause; and he will shut his teeth and hold on to 
his saddle, if he thinks no one is looking, and go at his 
fences blind, just to boast of ‘the jolly run we had’ to- 
morrow at the clubs.” 

“How do you do, Val?” says a brisk, invigorating 
voice behind them, and Tottie Hewit — Mrs. Gillette, — 
pulls up her horse. 

“Mrs. Gillette, I can hardly believe my eyes. You 
have deserted your old haunts lately. I thought we 
had lost you.” 

“ Not a bit of it.” Then soffo voce^ “ Introduce me to 
the girl who is going to console my lady for my mis- 
deeds and fiasco of two seasons ago.” 

“ Mrs. Gillette, let me introduce to you my cousin. 
Miss Van Velssler.” 

“ I am awfully glad to know you. Miss Van Velssler. 
I have really intended to do myself the pleasure of call- 
ing, even though my lady — oh, beg pardon! Val, you 
taught me that— Mrs. Livingston and I are not exactly 


298 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

one,” and Tottie removes her knee from the pommel of 
the saddle and leans her elbow upon it and laughs de- 
liciously, evidently not repentant yet for her conduct. 
It is a pleasure to look at her: happiness is written on 
every line of her round, impudent little face. 

“I wish you would come,” says Viva. “And I am 
sure auntie would be pleased to see you, if you did dis- 
appoint her,” she adds, with a laugh. “She has your 
picture on her table.” 

“ Has she ?” says Tottie, her eyes softening. “ Poor 
Mrs. Livingston, it was not her fault. She just wanted 
to do her duty by Stockton Hewit’s daughter, as she 
used to say. Val, will you ever forget the day she 
came into the library and saw you kiss my hand and 
heard you call me Tottie? Her face was a study! 
How she lectured me about you! I heard enough about 
you then, sir, to hang you. Oh, if she had known of 
the foul rebellion I had just told you I was about to be 
guilty of, and that you were giving me ybur best 
wishes,” and Tottie goes off into another peal of 
laughter. 

They are now very near the Underwood coach. Mrs. 
Stevens is on the box-seat with Mr. Travers, since the 
host is unable to drive to-day. How pale her poor 
little face grows as she sees the gay party below her! 
Viva, who has heard the story, looks up kindly; but 
Katherine bows very coldly to this beautiful cousin of 
Val’s, and whom he is said to admire so much. 

“ Do not let Mr. Carrol give you a lead. Miss Van 
Velssler; he is the most reckless rider I know,” says 
Mr. Underwood very earnestly, with almost a pleading 
look in his eyes. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 299 

“ I am going to give him a lead,” she says audaciously, 
and her conscience hurts her as she sees how uneasy he 
is for her safety. “ If not too much trouble, oh, cousin 
mine. I’d like you to shorten my stirrup a trifle,” she 
says to Val. 

Mr. Underwood motions for his groom to get down 
and hold Valentine’s horse. Viva removes her foot 
from the stirrup and holds aside her skirt, revealing a 
tiny Wellington, boot with a silver spur. And if ever 
Chester Underwood was inclined to rail at fate it is 
now, when he thinks if it were not for that stupid fall 
of his he might be beside her and able to render her 
such services. 

“They are off!” some one calls. 

Viva pulls her hat over her eyes, settles herself well 
back in her saddle, and without a glance or thought for 
the occupants of the coach is off like a shot, her horse 
neck and neck with Valentine’s. On they fly; it is 
glorious. There is a slight south wind and a dull sky — a 
day to bring joy to the huntsman’s heart. Houses, 
trees, and fields fly past them as they gallop madly on. 
The others are soon left behind. Val, Viva, the master 
of the hounds, and a young Englishman are in the lead. 
A group of farmers cheer them as they pass, but the 
enthusiasm decreases as the trampled fields are viewed. 
Across the field ahead they can see the hounds, with 
lowered heads, protruding tongues, and drooping tails. 
They lose the scent for a moment, and howl with anger, 
and rush about among themselves; then, with a shout of 
triumph, take up the trail and are off again with greater 
speed. They inspire courage to the foam-flecked horses, 
who start forward with a wiggle to their hind legs that 


300 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


would be disastrous to one who is not sure of his seat. 
Viva is a slight distance ahead of Val, and riding at a 
fence at the end of the field. 

“Viva, don’t take that fence! Stop!” he calls out. 
“ It is six feet high if an inch, and with a very ugly drop 
beyond. Come this way; there is an opening.” 

“Do you hear that clear note of the leader? It 
means the end,” she says as well as she can with her 
horse going at full speed. “ Do you suppose I am going 
to miss it? Follow me! If you are afraid. I’ll give you 
a lead.” 

He stretches himself out almost flat on the horse’s 
back and tries to reach her bridle. 

“ Don’t be an idiot, Val,” and she lays her riding-crop 
against the panting sides of her horse and rides straight 
at the fence. Val can but follow her. He shuts his 
teeth as her horse rises, and wonders if he will ever see 
her alive again. Her horse lands with his hind feet in 
the ditch, and the prints his hoofs made in the slippery 
mud on the sides of it show the gallant effort he made 
to get up, and he finally succeeded; and, with an im- 
patient shake of his head at the delay, is off again. 
Viva looks back a second and sees Val safely over, and 
a turn in the road brings her to the yelling pack, with 
only the young Englishman present. 

“ That was the most glorious run I have had since I 
left home. Just five-and-twenty minutes,” he says, tak- 
ing out his hunting-watch. 

“Yes, it was splendid. And to think you wanted me 
to miss the best part of it,” she says to Val as he 
comes up. 

A few stragglers join them, and they go back to Mrs. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 301 

Stevens’ country home for breakfast. The gossips note 
with delight how nervous the poor little hostess is; and 
once, when Val has just addressed her and she drops her 
wineglass, their pleasure knows no bounds. Viva’s 
hunter has managed to lame himself after the run, and 
Chester Underwood, who left a seat vacant on his coach 
in hope of persuading her to return with him, offers her 
the place, which she gladly accepts, and sends her pet 
home with the groom. The gossips on the coach ex- 
change glances as they see that Mr. Underwood, with 
great diplomacy, has made it convenient to leave the 
Livingston home last, dropping all the others first. 
When they turn into Fifth Avenue, there are only Viva, 
himself and Travers left. As they drive up to the Liv- 
ingston place, Hildegarde is just getting out of her i:oup^. 

“ What sort of a day did you have ?” she asks when 
Mr. Underwood has assisted Viva to the ground. 

“Splendid!” says Viva. “Such a pity Mr. Under- 
wood had to miss it.” 

“ How is the wrist ?” Mrs. Livingston asks, with pretty 
solicitude. 

“Improving, so I am told by my doctor; but very 
slowly, to my mind.” 

“Come in, all of you, and have some tea; you must 
be frozen.” 

Mr. Underwood accepts the invitation at once, but 
Mr. Travers pleads a pressing engagement. “Knew it 
was as much as my life was worth to go,” he told a 
confidential chum afterward. So, with an apology for 
leaving him, Mr. Underwood turns his coach over to his 
friend and follows Mrs, Livingston and Viva into the 
house. 


302 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

“ Go up to my den, auntie, and as soon as I have re- 
moved my mud-stained habit. I’ll be with you,” says 
Viva as she disappears down the corridor. 

Mrs. Livingston throws open her fur coat at the 
throat and goes upstairs, followed by Mr. Underwood. 
To her amazement and annoyance, upon entering Viva’s 
boudoir she finds Valentine Carrol snugly ensconced 
amid the eiderdown cushions and looking as though he 
were confident of a warm welcome from the mistress of 
the apartment. Mrs. Livingston’s greeting is a shade 
formal — not that he is disconcerted by it at all ; but a 
close observer might notice that his lips twitch under 
the dark mustache, and he lowers his lids to conceal a 
gleam of mischief. He places a chair for her, .removes 
her wraps, and rings for tea. 

“Where did you drop from?” says Viva as she en- 
ters a few moments later, wearing a pretty, simple 
afternoon gown of green silk, and greeting him with un- 
due e77ipressenient^ considering she has seen him all day, 
Mrs. Livingston thinks impatiently. “ Of course, since 
I come to think of it, you could reach town very much 
quicker than we on the coach, and having to call at so 
many places,” Viva adds. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


‘‘ Of course your highness may have been pleased to 
forget that I was invited this afternoon to help light 
the new tea-lamp, but nevertheless it is so,” says Val, 
meekly. 

“ Oh, to be sure! What do you think of my new tea- 
kettle and lamp, Mr. Underwood?” pointing to a small 
statue of Will-o’-the-wisp in Pompeian bronze. The 
figure is standing on tiptoe, looking back and luring the 
follower on with the lamp he holds in his uplifted hand; 
the other hand is holding the teakettle over it. 

“ It is exquisite. We had been admiring it before you 
came down.” 

“Do you know, Val,” says Viva, as she arranges the 
cups on a small table, with a lace cover oyer green 
silk, “you are just the touch of darkness my room 
needed. If I had had you here always, I would not 
have had to invest a whole month’s allowance in that 
statue.” 

“ Your words open up a new career before me — if the 
worst comes, I can lend myself on ‘ at home’ days to the 
fair ones whose rooms are too glittering and need a 
sombre tone,” he says, apparently lost in deep reflection. 

Mrs. Livingston is greatly annoyed. She says with 
a deprecating smile: “These absurd children, being 
cousins, are told so often that they are alike that they 
always make it a point to pay each other ridiculous 

303 


304 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

compliments for fun — as being a good way to compli- 
ment themselves.” 

Whereupon Val finds it necessary to stoop and pick 
up his napkin, to conceal his face. 

‘‘I think there is a resemblance between them,” says 
Mr. Underwood, looking from one to the other. “ There 
is something about the slope of the shoulders and the 
carriage of the head that is alike,” and they both make 
him a bow of mock appreciation, making the resem- 
blance all the stronger. 

Mr. Underwood soon takes his departure, and Mrs. 
Livingston makes an excuse of getting a letter for him 
to mail to leave the room with him. She wants to ask 
him to join her party at the theatre to-morrow night, 
but somehow dares not do it with that handsome wretch 
opposite gloating over her little tricks. 

“I am afraid I am done for,” says Val as the door 
closes. “ I have not seen my lady look at me like that 
since the day she saw me kiss Tottie’s hand. Come 
and sit by me. Viva, and let me behold you, if it is for 
the last time. Ah, that is it. The red light of the fire is 
very becoming to you. What a consolation to the soul 
of woman must be that rustle, when she moves, when 
her gown is lined with silk !” 

“Well, I never had my gowns lined with silk before, 
and yet I had the rustle any way.” 

“ You did ? How ?” 

“ Oh, do not expect me to give away the tricks of the 
trade. But I had to practice economy, I assure you, 
when I actually had to give up my beloved big scrawl 
and write smaller to save paper — talk not of poverty 
lill you have had to economize in notepaper. Oh,' 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 305 

when I think what a change it is, and if I had had the 
money I now squander on a bouquet or my expenses 
for a week, I would have considered myself vulgarly 
rich. I think it must be all a dream. I fear to wake up 
and find myself a pauper again instead of this pampered 
princess,” flinging her beautiful arms up and clasping 
her hands on the back of her chair. “ If you could 
have seen poor old Judge Vane when he came behind 
the scenes that night — dear old man, I suppose it was 
the first time he was ever in a greenroom in his life! 
The sceneshifters pushed him about, and he stood look- 
ing timidly around, expecting to see, no doubt, evi- 
dences of the most flagrant vice. And I have not 
regretted that night, I assure you. I find the bread of 
charity very palatable indeed.” 

“She is as heartless as all the Carrol women,” he 
thinks. “ A beautiful snowdrop crusted with ice — yet 
I have seen a gleam of fire in her eyes at times. The 
Carrol women are capable of two emotions — anger and 
wounded pride ; yet that she can feel sympathy is one 
secret of her belleship ; I wonder if ” 

Mrs. Livingston comes in and cuts short his cogita- 
tions. 

A few weeks later, just after the charity ball, at her 
cotillon dinner, Mrs. Livingston announces the engage- 
ment of her niece. Miss Van Velssler, to Mr. Chester 
Underwood. All society, especially clubdom, is startled. 
Of course they have seen it all along. But still to 
know that Underwood — the man who has successfully 
evaded the wiles of the fair sex for so long; the man 
who was distinctly not a marrying man; the man who 
was going to devote his life to politics — is actually caught 
20 


3 o 6 naval cadet CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

at last, the engagement really announced, is a shock to 
them. When may not their own time come ? they ask 
each with a shudder. Yes, it was one afternoon when 
she was driving in the park, and he met her and asked 
her to let him occupy the seat beside her, and she 
laughingly said she would be very glad to, as her horse 
was in a very bad temper. When she offered to put 
him out near his club, he begged for a cup of tea, and 
it was then, under the light shed by the Will-o’-the- 
wisp, that he asked her to be his wife. She had thrown 
her wraps on a chair and was removing her gloves, her 
face averted. He took her silence as a bad omen and 
begged her not to answer him then, but to wait and tell 
him in a week. 

“I had rather answer you now,” she said, still with 
her face hidden from his sight, and he feared the worst. 

“No, do not,” he said. “Try to see if you cannot 
learn to care for me; but do not say no to me now — I 
cannot bear it. You see, I could not help having some 
hope.” 

Then she turned a radiant face to him and stretched 
out her hands, with the pink palms up. 

“ Have you no vanity at all ? Can you not see that 
I care for you now ?” 

And he knelt at her feet, taking the little hands in 
his and buried his face in them. 

Mrs. Livingston sits in Viva’s den. Her hands hover 
over a piece of point lace in which she is apparently 
intensely interested, but Tottie, Katherine, and nu- 
merous other charges could testify that that identical 
piece of lace has been in progress for ages. She holds 


NAVAL CADET CALL VLB'S GLOVE. 307 

old-fashioned notions on the subject of fancy-work, and 
thinks it becoming for women of her generation to em- 
broider, and to be prettily shocked at the tennis, fenc- 
ing, and hunting with which the young women of the 
present day occupy their time apart from the principal 
work of society — the ballroom — and the necessary time 
for resting after the fatigue of dissipation. Viva is read- 
ing aloud one of Kipling’s short stories, while Chester 
Underwood sits near her and rests his eyes lovingly on 
her face. She reads remarkably well, and without the 
drawl and painful sounding of the final letter “s” and 
“ t” that most young women with .elocutionary tendencies 
affect. The story is “ In the Pride of His Youth.” Her 
voice is a trifle unsteady as she closes the book. 

“ It is very sad, very pitiful,” was her comment. 

“ I do not agree with you,” he says. “ I admire Kip- 
ling very much indeed. There is such a dash and such 
an unaffected simplicity about his stories, and humor 
and pathos are so cleverly mixed, that one hardly knows 
which emotion to yield to; but I do not like this story. 
I have no patience with or sympathy for any one who 
could by any combination of circumstances consent 
to be led into a secret marriage. It is a deception, — 
a crvne^ in fact, — I could never forgive. I express myself 
rather emphatically, perhaps; but I feel very strongly 
upon the subject.” 

Viva drops the book to the floor and holds her fire- 
screen to her face. The book is a birthday present 
Jack Montague sent last evening, bound in white leather 
to match her other volumes, and with her monogram 
nearly the length of the book in sterling silver. “ I did 
not intend to have another anniversary of my birthday. 


3 o 8 naval cadet CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


But Mr. Montague found out from auntie that I used 
to recognize this day, and sent this, so I had to ac- 
knowledge it; and consequently I am a year older than 
I would have been,” she told Chester when she showed 
it to him to-day. 

Mrs. Livingston looks up from her lace. “ All great 
men have a fad,” she says, with a laugh. “Who was it 
who could not make a telling speech unless he twisted 
a certain button on his coat? And the opposition took 
a mean advantage of him and cut that button off one 
day when there was an important question before the 
House upon which he intended to. speak. He fumbled 
helplessly for his button, with his ideas in total chaos, 
and the bill went over, all on account of the loss of the 
button. Then there was the distinguished Southerner, 
whose absence from the White House was noticed and 
commented upon, and it was discovered he preferred pay- 
ing his respects to the President in the evening for a quiet 
chat, but avoided the formal functions because he re- 
fused to wear the conventional evening dress. It will 
go down to history that the brilliant young Senator 
from New York refused to secure an appointment for 
any man who had been secretly married, no matter what 
urgent reason made it necessary that his nuptials be 
concealed from the world for a time.” 

Mr. Underwood scarcely hears her; he is looking at 
Viva, who has grown very pale and is leaning back in 
her chair as if she were going to faint. 

“Are you ill?” he says, rising and going to her and 
taking her hand in his. “Why are you so pale, dear?” 

“ I am not ill — perhaps a little tired. If you had had 
Mr. Van Courtenay for a partner for the cotillon last 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 309 

evening, you would be tired tgo,” she says, making a 
great elfort to be unconcerned. 

He sees that she does not want attention attracted to 
her looks, so changes the subject. 

“ Whose is the photograph that you honor by its being 
the only one in your favorite room ?” he says, going up 
to the table and taking up the picture. “ I have always 
intended to ask you.” 

“ That is a young naval officer — though you see it was 
taken when he was a cadet and officer of the day — Will 
Harris, and the most perfect character I ever knew.” 

“ Nonsense, Viva; you express yourself like a school- 
girl. You do not know him very well, and you never 
hear from him,” says Mrs. Livingston impatiently. 
“What an idiot the girl is! Most men do not like to 
hear a girl rave over army or navy officers, and if Ches- 
ter Underwood were like most men he would be furi- 
ously jealous,” she thinks. He sees the drift of Mrs. 
Livingston’s remarks and is intensely amused. He 
knows so much better than this worldly old woman, 
with her wornout tricks, can tell him, that Viva loves 
him truly, not for his wealth or position, but for himself. 
He has looked into the depths of her pure woman’s soul 
and has read what he wished to know and is content. 

“ No, I never hear from Will,” Viva says, “ because he 
hates letter- writing; but if I were in trouble, I know of 
no one I would rather call upon that I would upon him.” 

“ He has a very fine face,” says her fiance\ putting the 
picture back on the table. 

Viva is very quiet after that; she longs to be alone. 
She never thought that foolish marriage would confront 
her at this stage in her life. She had grown to look 


310 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLN S GLOVE, 


upon it as something that would never be revealed for 
she had kept silent so long for his sake when his 
name and his relatives might have been a protection 
and an assistance to her, and it would be hard to 
have to tell the secret now, when it might do her harm — 
ay, might ruin her life. She tries to remember all 
Chester said about it, but fears to ask him. 

“You are not looking well, Viva,” he says, bending 
over her with loving care. “ I fear I will have to rob 
the season of its most popular belle, and put a stop to 
some of these balls and parties if they are going to tire 
you like this.” She looks up and smiles, but does not 
trust herself to speak. “ I must leave you now, and 
you are to rest and not to see any one between this and 
Mrs. Thornton’s box-party to-night ; and if you are not 
looking your old self by that time, I give you fair warn- 
ing that I will bring you home after the first act,” he 
says, with sweet tyranny. 

“I will be all right after a rest, I assure you,” she 
says lightly, forcing herself to look into his grave eyes, 
bent so searchingly and anxiously on her face. 

After he is gone she goes to her room and, lowering 
the shades, throws herself on the bed. Rest! She feels 
as though she will never rest again. She tosses about, 
and her brain is on fire. Did he really mean what he 
said ? Is his love so light a thing that he could give 
her up for this? “It is a deception — a crime^ in fact — 
I could never forgive,” she seems to hear him say, and 
she knows he is not a man to use an exaggerated form 
of speech. What must she do? Tell him and risk the 
consequences? She does not dare. Suddenly she gets 
up and looks into her mirror anxiously. Her face is 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 31 1 

drawn and hard; she looks worn and older than she 
thought she could possibly look for years. She rings 
the bell and sends her maid for some chloral, telling her 
not to mention the matter to Mrs. Livingston, as she 
might suggest a course of medicine instead. 

“Oh, they all come to it in ze end,” says Fanchette, 
with a knowing nod of her cap bristling with French 
bows, as she slips the money in the tiny pocket of her 
apron and trips away. 

The rest the drug brings is delightful, and she looks 
thoroughly refreshed when she is dressed for the theatre. 

“Yes, zey are always pleased with ze effects at first,” 
thinks Fanchette, as she puts the long white-fur opera- 
cloak upon her mistress. 

At the theatre door Mrs. Livingston and Viva are 
met by Valentine Carrol and Claire Thornton, who 
seizes Viva’s hand and shakes it warmly. Claire prides 
herself on that handshake she has practised on her 
brother, and thinks she has about reached perfection 
in it. 

“How do you do, my dear?” she says. “I have 
wanted to see you ever since I arrived from the South 
last week and heard you were here. Do you keep up 
with any of the Lilacmere people?” 

“I always hear from Mrs. Guthrie; the others were 
just pleasant acquaintances.” 

They pass into the lobby, and find Chester Under- 
wood waiting there for them. He comes forward and, 
after speaking to the others, draws Viva’s hand through 
his arm. 

“ Well, not a single compliment, after I took all that 
trouble to be allowed to sit through the whole play ?” 


312 NAVAL CADET CALL VLB’S GLOVE. 

she says gayly. Those dark thoughts were thrown off 
with her dressing gown ; they can have no place in this 
gay scene, with its lights, music, perfume, and beauti- 
fully dressed women. She hears gay bits of conversa- 
tion as they pass to the box, and, standing beside her 
lover, with her hand pressed against his arm, she forgets 
all else. 

“You look as beautiful as a dream,” he says, and she 
laughs happily. 

A dark figure brushes against her, and her opera-cloak 
blows back and clings to the heavy-stuff gown of the 
veiled woman beside her. The woman throws the 
cloak aside with great force. Viva turns and looks 
haughtily and inquiringly at her, but she draws back 
and is lost in the crowd. 

When they are in the box and have settled themselves 
and adjusted their glasses, Val claims the attention of 
Mrs. Thornton, and converses with her in a low tone. 
Viva regards them amusedly; for once, she thinks, the 
fascinating Val has met his match. Then she turns to 
hear what Mr. Underwood is’ saying to her. Mrs. 
Livingston, like the proper-minded chaperon she is, 
finds herself intensely interested in the occupants of the 
boxes opposite and the fast-filling parquet below. The 
play is rather a sensational one. Claire considers it a 
bore, and leans back behind the silken hangings and 
talks in a whisper behind her fan to Val. Strangely 
enough, the play is the story of a secret marriage. It 
is the story of a young woman who is a governess in 
the family of an old nobleman. The eldest son is in 
love with her, but the young stepmother fancies him 
herself and sets the father against the governess. The 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 313 

son is about to go away for a long time and persuades 
her to marry him secretly just as he is leaving, but 
makes her swear not to reveal it till he gives her per- 
mission, for it will ruin him with his father. On this 
same morning the family jewels are stolen. After 
the young husband is gone the stepmother accuses the 
governess of having taken them; and the wedding ring 
of the old lord’s first wife, which was placed on her 
hand at the altar that morning, is found in her posses- 
sion, and she is unable to give an account of it. She 
goes through trials and tribulations, but the mystery is 
finally cleared up: the son returns and is forgiven by 
his father; the stepmother is proved the guilty one and 
kindly dies, leaving all peace and happiness behind her. 
Between the acts Viva discusses again the matter of 
secret marriages with her Jianc^^ and grows more miser- 
able with each word he speaks. He has allowed the idea 
to take tenacious hold of his mind, and, as great men do 
sometimes, holds determinedly to an opinion on a trifling 
subject. 

“What stuff !’’ says Claire as the curtain goes down 
on the last act. “ Can any of you ever forgive me for 
making you sit through such a thing?” 

“ The actors were very good. It is only the bad effect 
such a play might have on sentimental young people 
who consider secret marriages romantic. Instead of 
ending it happily, they ought to have been punished for 
their stupidity and deception,” says Mr. Underwood, in 
disgust. He picks up Viva’s opera wrap to put it about 
her, but she takes it from him; she knows she will have 
to look into his eyes as he fastens the clasps. He trusts 
her, and understands her so well that he does not seek 


314 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 

to know why she turns away, as a weaker-minded man 
might have done; but knows it is her wish, and glances 
over the house till she is ready. 

“The idea of coquetting with a man like that!” thinks 
Mrs. Livingston uneasily as she sees it. “ She has 
taken leave of her senses, and she will find some day 
that she has gone too far. Those calm, self-contained 
men never warn one to desist, but suddenly overwhelm 
one with their wrath, like the eruption of a volcano. 
If she should provoke him to — “ but she shudders at the 
thought! What would the Crugers say, those foes who 
have been so utterly routed ? 

Viva spends the most miserable night she ever experi- 
enced, and falls into a heavy, troubled sleep toward day. 
Her maid comes to her room several times the next 
morning before she wakes; when she does open her 
eyes, there is a dull sense of trouble hanging over her, 
and she has to sit up in bed and think what it is. Then 
it all rushes over her, and she falls back miserably 
among her pillows. Fanchette enters on tiptoe ; then, 
seeing she is awake, says, with her quaint, pleasing 
accent : 

“ Smith says zare is a young person downstairs who 
desires to see mademoiselle especially; she has been 
here before to-day.” 

“Tell her it is impossible — I cannot see any one be- 
fore noon to-day. And close those blinds, Fanchette, 
and do not let me be disturbed.” 

“Will mademoiselle pardon, but ze young lady say 
if I give ze note she will be receive,” handing her a 
pencilled note, Fanchette says, as she returns after a few 
moments. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE^ S GLOVE. 315 

“ Please bestow a few moments of your, no doubt, 
valuable time on me. I desire to see you on impor- 
tant business. Lucy Cockerill,” she reads. 

For a second she is at a loss to know who Lucy 
Cockerill is; then laughs as she thinks how infuriated 
the underteacher of Hammer College would be if she 
could know it. 

“ You may bring me a dressing-gown, Fanchette, and 
ask Miss Cockerill to come to my sitting-room,” and 
she twists her long hair up, slips on the white eider- 
down dressing-gown and goes into the next room, a 
pretty little affair in gray tones. 

“You will pardon my sending for you to come up,” 
she says as Miss Cockerill enters; “but I thought per- 
haps you would prefer it to being kept waiting. Will 
you be seated ?” 

Miss Cockerill does not speak, but looks at her gloat- 
ingly, as a tiger might, before springing upon the prey 
she is sure cannot escape her. Viva is a trifle discon- 
certed at the manner of her guest; it is peculiar in the 
extreme, she thinks. 

“I believe I am speaking to Mrs. Carlyle?” Miss 
Cockerill finally says. Viva gazes at her blankly. 

“I do not understand you,” she murmurs. 

“ Well, of course you know best whether you have a 
right to the name or not. I hope you will be able to 
prove that you have. Ah, my haughty one, the day 
has come when you and I can have a reckoning. I 
have waited so long for this, but it is not robbed of its 
sweetness for that. For every haughty look, for every 
make-fun remark you and your friends made me suffer at 
Hammer, I will now make return with interest. Did you 


3 i 6 naval cadet CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

ever realize howl hated you? Oh, I have managed to 
keep up with you, through most of your career, and when 
you went on the stage I regretted it deeply ; it was 
not that kind of humiliation I wanted to see you bow 
to. I wanted you to owe the bitterness of your life to 
me, as I have you to thank for mine. I knew that you 
would carry your pauper head as high as ever, and I 
would never have an opportunity of pointing the finger 
of scorn at you through any temptation the stage might 
bring you. And when Mrs. Livingston adopted you, I 
feared I would never be able to settle my little score 
with you. When your engagement to the wealthy Sena- 
tor-elect was announced, I thought there was no such 
thing as justice in the world. I had just come from 
his death-bed then — Adrian De Sofia’s. You broke 
his heart. For the love you threw away I would have 
bartered my hope of heaven. That made me hate you 
all the more. You can never imagine the poverty he 
died in, or the wretched little garret in a third-rate 
boarding-house, where I found him ill and without 
friends, with his money long since gone. He would 
have starved if it had not been for me. I gave up my 
situation and nursed him for weeks, and after the long 
fever was broken and he opened his eyes at the last, 
conscious, and I bent over him, he did not seem to re- 
member me, but said, ‘Go away, you are not Viva; I 
want Viva.’ Oh, God, do not talk of hate. Viva Van 
Velssler, till you experience a moment like that! After 
all my tender care and patience your name was the last 
word he spoke. I saw your party arrive at the theatre 
last evening, and from the way you greeted the dark 
man I thought he was the Senator-elect, and my heart 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 317 

failed me. I saw he was too cynical to care for you 
really, and was marrying you for your position or money, 
and nothing I might say would change him. But you 
people of the great world have, it seems, a strange way 
of exchanging civilities; and when I followed you into 
the theatre, from the way you met Mr. Underwood, 
from the way you looked up into his eyes and from 
his whispered speech, I saw that I had been mis- 
taken, that he was the man. I soon made assurance 
doubly sure, and asked an usher near — such prominent 
people are easily tracked, you see. I paid the greater 
part of my savings for the box next to you, and I heard 
your conversation between the acts. He despises secret 
marriages. And you were either secretly married to 
Cadet Carlyle when you were in Louisville during the 
Easter holidays, the last year of your school days, for 
he registered at the Willard Hotel as Charles Carlyle 
and wife, or — ” she stops and looks at Viva, who sits 
drawn up in her chair, shivering. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


“ Possibly this will help you to remember the day, if 
you need a reminder,” Miss Cockerill continues, toss- 
ing her a white glove. “ He dropped that as he got 
out of the carriage. It has been a perfect talisman to 
me. When I have been worn and despairing, I have 
taken it out and thought of this day, when I could throw 
it in your face and injure you.” 

“ Why did you not tell what you knew when I first 
returned to school ? ’ Viva asks. Her throat is dry and 
her voice sounds husky. 

“Because I knew it could not hurt you then; he could 
come forward and marry you openly. I could see no 
reason why he should not, except that you wanted to 
receive your diploma, and I knqw I could keep you out 
of that.” 

“It was against the regulations of the navy,” Viva 
says mechanically. 

“Well, I am glad I did not know it, for if I could have 
hurt you by ruining his career I would have done so, 
and then I would have been denied this more glorious 
revenge. You love this Senator more than you ever 
could have loved that boy, and I had rather strike you 
through him. Now, I am going to tell him what I 
know, and leave it to you to answer him as to whether 
you were Charlie Carlyle’s wife or not when he regis- 
tered you as such. Go on and beg for mercy.” 

318 


NAVAL CADET CALL VLB'S GLOVE. 319 

“You are very much mistaken if you think I will do 
that,” says Viva, rising, and with the old haughty light 
Miss Cockerill hated so in her eyes. “ I come of a race 
who do not beg for mercy. I would like to know, 
however, exactly what you intend to do, and when I 
may expect the tragic little scene you intend to treat us 
to. In plain words, when do you intend to put the fin- 
ishing touches to the clever little plot, which savors of 
chicanery worthy a better cause?” 

“You die game, ‘my fair one’ — as I have heard Jen 
Miller and your friends call me often; but I fancy you 
are more troubled than you let on. Well, I will give 
you one week, and during those seven days I fancy 
your frame of mind will not be enviable. I prefer 
making the suspense long drawn out.” 

“That is sufficient. I understand. Fanchette,” to 
the maid who has come in answer to her ring, “ show 
this lady downstairs and I am not ‘at home ’ to her in 
the future.” She remains standing, and slightly bends 
her head as Miss Cockerill passes her, consumed with 
rage. When she is alone, she locks the door, and clasp- 
ing her hands behind her head stands in the middle of 
the floor, silent and numbed. The reaction will begin 
presently. She picks up the white glove and mechani- 
cally straightens it out. She remembers so well seeing 
him thrust it in his breastpocket as they got out of 
the carriage that day in Louisville. That was the last 
time she saw him. How gay he was, and how he teased 
the sedate Will! How different would have been her 
life if he had lived! She puts the glove on a table and 
throws herself face downward on the floor. What must 
she do? Will Chester really give her up when he hears 


320 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

it? What will Mrs. Livingston say? She will never 
forgive her, that is sure. The moments pass, and she 
can form no plan of action. It is awful. She walks 
aimlessly and distractedly about the room. Finally her 
eye falls upon a silver paper-weight made in the shape 
of an anchor, the gift of Will Harris. Of course there 
is Will. He can help her, advise her — why did she not 
think of him at first? If she could only see him! She 
must find out where a letter or a telegram will reach 
him — but how, with only one short week to do it in ? 
She sits down at her desk and hastily writes a note. 

“Dear Val: — I want to see you particularly. Will 
drive past the Union this afternoon at three. Be there, 
and saunter out and join me. If I should miss you, 
come this evening; will beat home before the Pember- 
ton cotillon dinner. Do not mention to auntie that I 
have written. 

“ Yours cordially, 

“Viva Van Velssler.” 

She seals it, marks it “ important, “ rings for her maid, 
and tells her to dispatch it at once. Then follows a 
weary hour of waiting. Good heavens, what will the 
seven days be, if she has only passed three hours since 
Miss Cockerill left! 

Mr. Valentine Carrol is just opening his handsome 
eyes to the garish light of day when his man hands him 
Viva’s note. He props himself up in bed with his pil- 
lows and rests his head on his arm, from which falls 
his sleeve of pink silk. 

He gave a prolonged whistle as he finished the note. 

“What can my fair cousin be up to now? Note 
shows, evidently, it was written under a nervous strain. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 321 

That about ‘do not mention to auntie’ is clumsy and 
not like our tactful Viva. If any more of my lady’s 
protegees make me their confidant and elope at the end 
of the season, she will sue me for damages. Thomas, 
paper and ink.” 

“ Dear Viva,” he writes, “ I will be at the Union from 
three to four; and if you should be detained or pre- 
vented from coming, will show up at your place imme- 
diately after dinner this evening. It will give me great 
pleasure to be of any possible service to you. 

“ Yours very truly, 

“Valentine Cross Carrol.” 

All day Viva is in a fever of excitement to know if 
she can dispose of her aunt for the afternoon or not, 
and with great diplomacy — she has a morbid idea that 
all her movements must be made with the utmost se- 
crecy — she finds out that Mrs. Livingston will be en- 
gaged with the Waifs’ Mission, her latest fad. Viva 
orders the victoria, her aunt preferring a more closed 
carriage, and at three starts out, telling the coachman 
to drive by the Union Club. How the little street 
arabs look after her and envy her as she rolls rapidly 
by, in a gray gown covered with some feathery gray 
trimming as soft as the cygnet’s down ! A large picture 
hat, with gray and white plumes, is tilted over her eyes; 
her long, fluffy, white and gray feather boa sweeps out 
over the gray velvet laprobe. She looks as if she 
were representing the white and gray winter afternoon. 
On her tiny muff is pinned a bunch of fragrant violets. 
Yet no one need envy Viva Van Velssler as she drives 
in her perfectly appointed victoria on this crisp winter 
afternoon. Perhaps, after all, it is best to be content 
21 


322 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

with one’s own lot in life. Who knows what sort of a 
skeleton our apparently happy neighbor’s closet may 
harbor? As she drives through Madison Square there 
is quite a stream of carriages, and a man crossing 
Broadway has to wait for a moment for them to pass. 
Her carriage is stopped by a policeman to let a line of 
waiting cars have the right of way. She looks up, to 
see Denton Overton standing almost beside her. She 
remembers having seen in the morning paper he is in 
the city for a few days, having left his wife and her 
mother abroad. There is a disagreeable, cynical look 
in his eyes as he lifts his hat to her. She bows coldly, 
and is glad he does not attempt to speak to her. She 
wonders bitterly why it is that whenever a particularly 
disagreeable event in her life happens he is sure to 
be on the spot — no wonder she almost hates him. As 
she reaches the club and turns into 21st street, Mr. Car- 
rol is carelessly sauntering down the steps. He has seen 
her coming from one of the windows. He signals the 
coachman to stop. 

“I am glad to see you on time,” she says, pushing 
the robe aside for him to sit beside her. Then, without 
any pretence at indifference, she goes straight to the 
point. 

“ Val, do you know any of the officers at the Brook- 
lyn navy-yard ?” 

“ I have met one or two of them.” 

“Well, I want you to develop a sudden interest in 
some of them and call upon them this evening.” 

Mr. Carrol opens his great, sleepy eyes in astonish- 
ment. He does not remember to have heard there is 
insanity in the family, though, of course, that may 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 323 

have come from the Van Velsslers — he believes there is 
some saying about genius and insanity going hand in 
hand. That he should be dragged out of bed at an 
unearthly hour to read a note from her and be met with 
all this show of secrecy, only to be told to call on some 
fellows she does not know and he has hardly met, is 
rather astonishing. 

“ I want you to find out the present address of Ensign 
William Harris; it is important that I should know it at 
once. I could find out, of course, by writing to the 
department, but I do not care to do that; besides, it 
would lose time. But at the yard, through some of 
the young officers who possibly know him, or from the 
last ‘Naval Register,’ you could get me the information 
at once. Now, throw over the Pemberton cotillon affair 
this evening — you do not care for it really, I know — ■ 
and do my commission instead,” she says very earnestly, 
laying her hand on his arm. 

“ It will give me great pleasure to do your bidding, 
ma belle coHsine\ and I must say that any fellow in the 
club would envy that lucky dog, that you take such an 
interest in him.” 

“I will be at the Arnold tea to-morrow at four,” she 
says, paying no attention to his compliments. “You 
have cards, I believe; be sure to go and have the 
address and full information out on a small piece 

of paper, which I can put in my glove, as I might get 
it wrong.” 

“ I understand and will follow your directions ex- 
actly,” looking at her curiously. “What the mischief 
is she up to?” he wonders. 

3he seems to breathe freer now that it is all settled^ 


324 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 

and her eyes lose their exaggerated brilliancy. He 
sees that if there is any pretence at conversation he 
must be responsible for it, so he chatters away, talking 
“society chopsticks,” as he says, and does not require 
her to reply. 

“ There comes Katherine Stevens, walking and alone,” 
he says. “ I am going to get out here, and will ask 
you to drive with' her instead. The gossips have been 
connecting my name with hers very much lately. I had 
to knock a young cub down at the club last night for 
what he considered a compliment to my powers of con- 
quest and which was an insult to her womanhood. I 
fancy it is not likely to get out, as he will hardly men- 
tion it, and there was no one else by; but it would put 
a stop to all gossip at once if you drive the length of 
fashionable Broadway with her this afternoon.” 

Viva frowns. She has no desire to uphold the tot- 
tering reputation of any woman who is foolish enough 
to get herself talked about. It is so easy to be good, 
thinks this proud, haughty daughter of the Carrols, 
and she has no patience with imprudence in any form. 

“Do the gossips do her an injustice?” she asks, 
coldly. 

“ My dear girl, I am sorry I cannot say much for the 
morals of the men of our family, but their redeeming 
feature is the careful way they guard their sisters and 
wives. Like all reckless, dissipated men, they have a 
higher standard for and are more exacting of their 
women than many better men. You are my cousin — 
need I say any more 

“ Certainly not. I will do as you wish.” 

The carriage is stopped; he gets out and, going up to 


NAVAL CADET CAELVLNS GLOVE. 325 

Mrs. Stevens, lifts his hat, speaks to her, and leads her 
toward Viva. 

“I have made Val get out so I may offer you the 
place. Won’t you drive with me, Mrs. Stevens ? Very 
commendable in you to set us the example of taking 
exercise, but you must have had enough of it by this 
time, and I can take no refusal.” 

Mrs. Stevens does not want to go. She does not like 
Viva, and has a childish notion that she wants to do 
just the opposite of what Val wants her to do; but she 
is too weak to fight against such veterans, and after a 
time yields. Val assists her in, tucks the robe about 
her, and lifts his hat as they drive off, with the softest 
expression in his eyes that Viva has ever seen there. 

The next afternoon at the Arnold tea Viva and 
Claire are surrounded by a group of admirers. From 
the way Viva’s eyes brighten and she hands her cup to 
Jack Montague, who is beside her, that gentleman thinks 
Underwood must have arrived. Much to his astonish- 
ment, on turning around he sees Valentine. 

“Oho! this begins to look serious,” thinks Jack, and 
his wonder increases as he sees her turn aside eagerly 
with Val, who whispers something to her and gives her 
a note, which she puts in her glove. “ My last illusion 
is gone. Who would have thought it? Even unto 
this last?” And all Claire’s wiles are not sufficient to 
draw him to her side. “ They would deceive the devil 
himself,” he thinks as he retreats to a doorway. 

“ Did you find out?” says Viva, not trying to conceal 
how anxious she is. 

“Yes. He has been sent on a special commission to 
Paris — something about the naval observatory there, I 


326 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

believe — and sails from England to-day. Got it from a 
man who knows him, and also saw it in the Army and 
Navy Journal. Here is the full address, with the news- 
paper clipping enclosed,” giving her the folded tiny 
note. 

“ Thank you ; 5'ou ai;e very good to take so much 
trouble,” she says, growing very faint. But she makes a 
desperate effort to keep up a chatter with Mr. Travers, 
v;ho floats up and attaches himself to her, and with that 
“ armor which the Spartans call heroism, the Stoics 
philosophy, and we simply style good-breeding,” she 
manages to conceal even from Val, who is watching her 
closely, that she is not the same as usual. Mr. Travers 
is carried away with her wit and gayety, and tells a 
few choice spirits at the club later that he envies but 
one man — Underwood. 

For the next few days Viva’s admirers give her the 
reputation of being capricious — “ The airs of a profes- 
sional beauty and a young woman who has captured 
the prize of the season,” says ah old clubman. 

“Erratic! And if she were not a Carrol, I would 
think she is really in love,” thinks Valentine. 

“ Losing her head and playing with edged tools — 
Chester Underwood is not the man to stand that sort of 
thing long. If she goes too far, I will have a settlement 
with her which she will not forget, I think,” says Mrs. 
Livingston. 

Viva — oh, who knows but herself the suffering of those 
days: the wild, tempestuous thoughts that run through 
her brain? She seizes upon a hundred mad schemes, 
each to be thrown aside as more impracticable than the 
last. She thinks once of persuading him to marry her 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 327 

at once and of telling him afterward, but she dare not; 
she knows he would never forgive her in the world. It 
would be like going to the altar with a lie on her lips. 
She has taken 'so much chloral that her brain is dulled 
and she cannot think clearly; her judgment and usual 
diplomacy have left her. She curses herself that she 
did not deal differently with Lucy Cockerill; perhaps if 
she had humbled that wretched pride a little, or offered 
to buy her silence, it would have been all right; but 
she knows such peace would only be a mockery, and 
even as his wife she would never know a moment free 
from the haunting dread of discovery; and she could 
not look into his true eyes, knowing she had deceived 
him. The hours slip by and bring her doom nearer. 
There is only one more day now before the denoimnent. 

She has been driving, alone — she prefers to be alone. 
The strain of keeping up the chit-chat of society is tell- 
ing upon her. She flings the reins to a groom, gets out 
of the high cart, and goes up the steps. 

“Mr. Carrol is in the octagon room,” says Sims, the 
English hallman, the envy of all of Mrs. Livingston’s 
swell acquaintances, as he opens the front door for her. 

She goes straight to her den and finds Val teaching 
her tiny French poodle to keep time to “ Dixie.” 

“ How art thou, oh, light of my soul ?” says Val as 
she enters, releasing the poodle, who takes advantage 
of his tormentor’s inattention to seek a safe retreat 
under the divan. 

“I had an idea I would find you here,” she says, 
going to the mantel and leaning her elbow on it. 

“Clear illustration of the communication af twin 
souls, my own,” diving after the poodle. “ Yes, it took 


328 NAVAL CADET CARLYLN S GLOVE. 

an extra tip to Sims to have this pleasure, which I hope 
you appreciate, knowing my financial condition. I 
fancy my lady has given orders not to admit me when 
she is out,” with a delighted chuckle. 

She laughs too. It is so absurd, this notion of her 
aunt, as if she could care for any but the man she has 
promised to marry and whom she loves with all the 
passionate strength of her Southern nature. 

“What are you doing to Jeff? Here, Jeff,” she calls 
to the poodle, which was a Christmas gift from Jeff 
Guthrie. 

The dog comes out, looking suspiciously at Val, and 
seats himself on the white cashmere goatskin at her 
feet, his white, curly coat mingling with and becoming 
indistinguishable from the rug. Viva stands silently 
and looks into the fire. Perhaps she had better tell 
Val; he is a man of the world, and can deal with that 
treacherous woman better than she; he is her kinsman, 
and surely is interested in her welfare. Yes, as much 
as she hates to make any one a -confidant in her affairs, 
she is so sorely in need of counsel that she thinks — 

“ From the way he looks at you, one would think he 
reads your very thoughts; and perhaps he does,” says 
Valentine. 

She turns with a startled cry. What can he mean ? 
“ Confound you. Viva, you have scared him into swal- 
lowing my ancient Egyptian coin. ” He had been teach- 
ing Jeff to stand on his hind legs and balance the coin 
on his nose, and the poor little dog had looked at Viva 
pleadingly to rescue him. 

She gives a hysterical laugh and falls from the tragic 
to the supremely comic; and so, perhaps the one thing 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE, 329 

that could have saved her is neglected — the opportu- 
nity is lost. Mrs. Livingston enters and sends her to 
dress for an informal dinner at Tottie Gillette’s. 

“You will be late now; hurry,” she says. 

It is her last afternoon — to-morrow the crash will 
come. Viva lies on the divan in her boudoir robed in 
a white silk tea-gown trimmed with §wan’s-down. 
The twilight shadows mingle with those the red fire- 
light throws about the dainty apartment. It is impos- 
sible to read — her book was thrown down long before 
it grew too dark to see. Her hands are pressed over 
her hot eyelids. How her temples throb! 

“Mr. Hunderwood, ” says that treasure of an Eng- 
lish servant, throwing open the door. 

She rises and goes forward with outheld hands. 

“ Do not think I have a total disregard for the fitness 
of things to appear at this time of day,” he says with 
a laugh. “ But the truth is, when I got through with 
that tiresome afternoon banquet at the Reform Club I 
felt that nothing but the sight of you would refresh me; 
so, as I am to dine with you to-night, I dressed and 
came at once.” 

“ As if you need apologize about what time you come 
— as if you could come too soon,” she says, looking up 
into his strong, handsome face admiringly. 

He laughs contentedly. His heart tells him how 
true she is. Then the smile fades from his face and a 
little spasm of pain contracts it. 

“You will find me very dull company, indeed, I fear. 
I have an insufferable headache, and must put up with 
it since my physician promised to cure me of these 
chronic headaches of mine provided I take his doses 


330 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

long enough and leave my pet remedy, antipyrin, 
alone.” 

“I am so sorry,” she says. “Sit here and let me 
see if I can cure it,” drawing a big chair up to the fire. 
“Now let me put this back of your head,” placing a 
down pillow. “One more; there, that is comfortable, 
I think.” She goes to a little cabinet and gets a bottle 
of eau de cologne., which she pours on her handkerchief. 
Then standing at the back of his chair, she smooths 
his forehead. How handsome he is, she thinks, as she 
looks down upon him, with his dark head resting 
against the white cushion, and his great eyes staring 
dreamily into the fire. 

A mouth for mastery and manful work, 

A certain brooding sweetness in the eye, 

A brow, the harbor of fair thoughts. 

“ What Strong, cool hands you have. Viva. I never 
believed that theory of rubbing headaches away before. 
I’ll tell Dr. Belton to-morrow that I have ‘thrown his 
physics to the dogs,’ and that I have found a cure for 
headache at last.” 

“Is it better? I am so glad,” coming around and 
sitting on the arm of his chair. He leans his head 
against her arm, the swan’s-down on her sleeve making 
a soft resting-place. 

“ I will have to leave you now and dress for dinner. 
I do not know whom auntie has asked; only a few, 
though, I think. Then we go to the Barton-Evans 
ball — oh, let us give that up, I do not want to go. 
Please say you do not care to go, but will spend the 
evening here with me alone. It is a fancy of mine. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 331 

but I want you to humor it,” putting her arms about 
his throat. 

“Nonsense, child; the ball of the senior Senator from 
New York to me, just after my election, is almost offi- 
cial; and of course, I — and, in fact, we — must go.” 

“ But I do not want to. Say you will stay, sweet- 
heart ?” tightening her arms. 

“ Of course, if you are not feeling well or do not 
want to go, I will excuse you ; but it is impossible for 
me to decline the invitation this late in the day with- 
out some excellent reason.” 

She shudders. How firm, how determined he is! 
If he will not yield a small point like this, what will he 
say when he knows all that Miss Cockerill can tell 
him ? She feels how awful it would be to lose his 
kindly sympathy now; to look into his dear eyes and 
see the love light die out. She knows that she would 
rather die — yes, that would be such an easy v/ay out of 
it all, if she could only die ! But to give up a moment of 
his society on this last night, when he still worships 
her, that would be impossible! 

“Oh, no, no, I am perfectly well; I was just selfish 
and wanted you all to myself,” she says. He smiles 
and kisses the bowed head. 

At the Burton-Evans ball Viva is, as usual, one of 
the belles. Mrs. Livingston is suffering with a cold, 
and Claire, who was her guest at dinner, is chaperoning 
Viva. Jack Montague sees her as Underwood leaves 
her at the cloakroom; sees the way she lingeringly 
takes her hand out of his arm, knowing that as he does 
not dance it will be some time perhaps before she can 
have an opportunity of speaking to him again: sees her 


332 NAVAL CADET CARLVLN S ^GLOVE. 

put up her fan and whisper something, and watch him 
with admiration in her eyes as he turns away. 

“By Jove, they’d puzzle the sphinx on her own rid- 
dles!’’ says Jack. “Just as you think you have got 
’em down to a fine point, they are clear off the track. 
I, for one, am going to foreswear the whole lot of ’em. 
Oh, Mrs. Thornton, charmed to see you! May I hope 
for a dance, or are you engaged, as usual, for a dozen 
extras ?’’ 

“I saved you one,” says Claire prettily, and the 
would-be cynic forgets he has just sworn to rail at the 
fair sex forever. 

“Val, I want to see you. I drove to your quarters 
this morning, but for once you were the pattern of in- 
dustry and were out with the early worm,” says Viva, 
as she comes out of the cloakroom. 

“Yes, my man told me,” offering her his arm and 
taking her to speak to her hostess, while Claire follows 
with Jack. “And, my dear, don’t you think it a little 
risque to sit in your cart in front of the bachelor apart- 
ment-house of some of the gayest men in town, even if 
one is a kinsman ?” 

“ Not at all. I am the fashion ; I can do as I please. 
Besides, I am Mrs. Livingston’s niece and Senator-elect 
Underwood’s fiance'e^ pray do not lose sight of those 
two important items,” saucily. “I want you to come 
to me as early as possible to-morrow. I have something 
interesting to show you.” 

“You excite my curiosity,” he says courteously, as 
she goes forward with Claire to speak to the hostess. 

“It will be best to have him there for auntie’s sake,” 
she thinks. Yes, her mind is made up now— there is 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 333 

but one way out of the difficulty. She laughs, chats, and 
flirts the evening through, and they will tell each other 
with blanched faces to-morrow that they never saw her 
look more beautiful or in a more brilliant humor. 

She is wearing her favorite costume — white silk— and 
has hyacinths in her hair. Between the dances, once 
near midnight, Chester Underwood comes to her and 
draws her hand through his arm. 

“Let me get you a glass of punch, my darling; you 
have been dancing so much you must be tired.” 

Oh, if he only knew how very, very tired she is! But 
she must conceal it; it is for the last time — in a few 
hours it will all be over. She smiles into his eyes and 
he leads her to a little alcove where the punchbowl is. 
As he hands her the glass, some one knocks his arm and 
the crimson liquid spills over the trail of her gown. 

“ How stupid of me! Can you forgive me? I heard 
Mrs. Livingston say it is a new gown, and it is certainly 
the most becoming one I ever saw you wear. I am so 
sorry.” 

“ It does not matter — it can all be taken out very 
easily with chloroform. I have a treasure of a maid 
who taught me that trick last week.” 

“ Are you sure ?” 

“Perfectly,” as she tucks the trail up to conceal the 
stain and goes off with her partner, who claims her for 
the next dance. 

At last the ball is over. She looks curiously at the 
people who tell her good-night and murmur that they 
will see her at such a tea or reception to-morrow. How 
strange it is, she thinks, as she stands on the steps with 
a gay party waiting for the carriage, that this is the 


334 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

last time she will ever drive over these brilliantly lighted 
streets. They find as they enter the hall at home a 
dim light from a jewelled rose lamp. The house is as 
silent as the grave. Mrs. Livingston has long since 
retired, and Viva never keeps her maid up when she 
goes to a ball. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


He unfastens her ball cloak of ermine; it is not whiter 
than the satiny shoulders and throat it reveals. She 
clings to him — it is for the last time, though he does 
not know it. What would he say, she wonders, if he 
did ? He is surprised and pleased at her unwonted show 
of affection. , • 

“You had an enjoyable evening, my queen, even 
though you did not want to go,” holding her in his arms 
and brushing back the hair from her forehead. 

“Yes, I am glad I went,” she says looking at him, oh! 
so closely; she wants to remember every line of that 
dear face at the last. Perhaps some part of the thought 
is transmitted to him: he seems loath to let her go; he 
loosens his arms from about her once, but quickly 
draws her to him more closely. At last he releases her. 
She lets her arms fall from about his throat; she goes 
to the banister, lays her hand heavily upon the post and 
goes slowly up to the first landing. The jewelled lamp 
shines directly down upon her. He stands and watches 
her. She turns, and in the dim light he sees plainly 
the crimson stain the wine he spilled has left on her 
gown. 

Over the banister bends a face, 

Daringly sweet and beguiling; 

Somebody stands, in careless grace, 

And watches the picture smiling^, 

335 


33^ NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 


’ The lights burn dim in the hall below; 

Nobody sees her standing. 

Saying good-night again, soft and slow, 

Half-way up to the landing. 

Nobody only those eyes of brown. 

Tender and full of meaning. 

That smile on the fairest face in town, 

Over the banister leaning. 

Tired and sleepy, with drooping head, 

I wonder why she lingers — 

Now, when all the good-nights are said. 

Why somebody holds her fingers. 

He holds her fingers and draws her down. 

Suddenly growing bolder. 

Till the loose hair droops its masses brown. 

Like a mantle, over his shoulder. 

Over the banister, soft hands fair 
Brush his cheeks like a feather. 

And bright-brown tresses and dusky hair 
Meet and mingle together. 

There is a question asked; there’s a swift caress — 

She has flown like a bird up the hallway; 

But over the banister drops a “ Yes,” 

That brightens the world for him alway. 

She turns, and her cloak slips off her shoulders and 
falls in a heap at her feet. She holds out her bare 
arms. 

“Chester,” she calls. He goes up the stairway and 
catches her as she falls, with a little gasp, on his breast. 

“What is it, my darling? You are tired, after all, I 
fear,” as he puts her hand on his shoulder and pushes 
in place a bracelet on her shapely arm. 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 337 

The diamond star on her breast rises and falls with 
each pulsation of her heart. The white hyacinths in 
her hair touch his lips. He never smells hyacinths 
afterward without a shudder, for their delicate odor 
makes him faint. She raises herself in his arms. One 
last look, in which she seems to send her very soul out 
into space to meet his, and she draws herself from his 
clasp, and, leaving him on the landing with the ermine 
ball-cloak at his feet, she goes up the stairway and is 
lost in the gloom of the upper corridor. Upstairs, she 
rushes to her room and flings open the blinds; she sees 
him go down the stone steps, stop under the lamp- 
post to light a cigar (how eagerly, hungrily she watches 
every movement), and get into his coupe. One hand 
rests on the sill of the door of the coupe\ which he has 
just closed; it is all she can see of him as they turn the 
corner. What would she not give to kiss that hand just 
once more ? When he is lost to view, she throws her- 
self in a chair and covers her eyes with her bare arms, 
resting a hand on either elbow. It is over, she thinks; 
she has already taken leave of life — this other is a 
secondary matter. She sits for hours, going over again 
and again every word he has spoken to her, like a miser 
gloating over his gold. She could not live without him 
— it is not the dread of going back to the poverty into 
which Mrs. Livingston has threatened to thrust her if, 
through her, the engagement is broken. She would not 
mind the old life of drudgery if she had his love to 
brighten it. She fears to put him to the test. She would 
rather die with the memory of his kiss on her lips. No 
death could be as bitter as looking at him and finding 
his eyes bent coldly, disapprovingly upon her. She gets 

23 


338 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

up and goes to the window. A carriage is passing; 
under the gas light, she sees the man lean forward and 
fasten the cloak of the woman beside him. How it 
hurts her — just so he has fastened her cloak so often, 
and always with some whispered caress. The starlight 
filters through the upper blinds and falls upon her white 
face. She sees a man in evening dress opposite fling a 
beggar child roughly out of his path. The child sits 
on the curbstone and cries. She raises the window, 
calls the child to her, and flings it a bracelet — no, not that 
one — he touched it — the other one. Then she lowers 
the shades and turns on the lights. It is nearly day — 
no time to be lost. Think what the morrow brings! 
She takes off her ball-gown and puts on a dressing- 
robe, and lays the chloroform bottle out. She goes 
up to the bureau; here is the plan of improvements for 
her old home, Glenwood, which he was to give her for 
a wedding present. Poor old Aunt Pinky and Uncle 
Josh are preparing for and looking forward to her com- 
ing. It was her wish to spend the first few weeks of 
their married life there. Oh, it is awful! She picks 
up a photograph of Valentine, which he sent this after- 
noon with some flowers. 

“ The Carrols are a doomed lot. So many of us die 
by our own hand, but we die game and scientifically; 
there is no shrinking, and no newspaper scandal — and 
no one knows positively. Oh, my cousin Val, when the 
final annals of the Carrols are written, what picturesque 
doom or mysterious death will be recorded of you!” 

The pictured face seems to look mockingly at her. 
“ You are afraid, ” it says. She drops it with a shudder. 

“I am glad he spilled the wine; it might make him 


NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 339 

sorrier if he should find out — but he won’t. They will 
send for him the first thing in the morning; and she can- 
not see him till she knows what has happened, and then 
she will be afraid. She will have the superstition of the 
narrow-minded of death, and she will fear me and 
cower before me dead as she did living. What a para- 
dox of fate it all is! At three-and-twenty, with youth, 
beauty, wealth and position, and love I must give up life. 
With as fair prospects as are usually allotted to mortals, 
I must confess myself a failure, and with only myself 
to blame. Time, of all things, is the most cruel. Why 
could it not stay to-night forever? After all this wait- 
ing for such happiness, when it comes I am not ready 
and must let it go by. Is it not horrible? I seem 
weighted down by my own helplessness.” 

She takes a little sponge and dips it in the chloroform 
and begins cleaning the gown. 

“ I will be supposed to have been overcome by the 
fumes and to have fallen face downward on the wet 
place,” she thinks. 

When she has removed a little of the stain, she 
holds the sponge to her face. She struggles and gasps, 
and remembers a dentist once told her it would be diffi- 
cult for her to be put under the influence of chloroform, 
that she would fight against it. It shoots through her 
nostrils like hartshorn. It is awful! She fears she will 
have to give it up. She has put the dress down and is 
lying on the sofa, with the sponge held to her face. 
She reaches for the bracelet he has touched; she feels 
herself yielding to the drug; she gets up from the sofa; 
she must be found on the floor beside the dress. The 
lights expand and grow smaller, and seem to be coming 


340 NAVAL CADET CARLYLE'S GLOVE. 

toward her; everything has a gray veil over it. Val’s 
face looks approvingly at her from out the mist — “ Like 
a Carrol,” he says. On the mantel is Charlie’s picture; 
she is glad his eyes are turned away. He is in the canvas 
uniform, a suit the cadets wear for work and drills upon 
the water, and with his name written across his chest. 
She hopes he will never know. Any way, he must re- 
member she did not promise not to want the marriage 
undone. She cannot see any more. The dressing-gown 
is open at the throat, and the diamond star upon the 
white chest rises and falls with the labored and deep 
breaths. The white hyacinths in her hair are withered. 
Her hand loosens its hold upon the bracelet. The little 
game she has played with Destiny is over, and she has 
lost! She is at rest, beyond the reach of Lucy Cockerill 
or mortal woman. The stars go out, and the morning 
sun pours into the room, putting to shame the flickering 
gas-jets. The soiled, crumpled white glove has fallen 
from a table and lies beside her on the floor. 


THE END. 


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cover. i2mo, cloth. 

A story of three homes. An excellent story for children. 

” It is to be recommended heartily to all who ^vant something innocent and pleas, 
ing to add to the children’s home library .” — Boston Beacon. 

" An amusing tale of three kittens and their homes by Amy Walton. It is a sensi* 
ble, jolly book for little boys and girls. ... It is not often that one comes 
across such a natural, sensible story so pleasantly told .” — Literary World. 

“It contains a wealth of sympathetic touches that will make each child who reads 
it more reflective and thoughtful in her intercourse with other boys and girls.” 

—Boston Herald. 


At the Rising of the Moon. 

By Frank Mathew. Illustrated by Fred. Pegram and 
A. S. Boyd. i2mo, cloth, $1.25. 

‘“At the Rising of the Moon ’ is but a little volume, and its stories are brief and 
not many, but the very heart of Ireland beats iti them. One by one the various 
national types appear ; it is a motley company, but every figure abounds in charac- 
ter, and Mr. Mathew, whether by imitation or by grace of similar natural gift, 
makes each one as effective as Mr. Kipling himself could make it.” 

— Boston Herald. 

” They are as true to Irish life as the songs of Tom Moore are.” — Literary World, 

“ In this series of stories and studies the biographer of Father Mathew has done 
for Moher and its people very much what Mr. Barrie has done for Thrums in his 
‘ Idylls.’ The writer brims over with Hibernian hilarity, and his book teems w’ith 
that apparently unconscious humor which is so racy of the soil.” 

— Glasgow Herald. 

“ A volume of gracefully written and interesting sketches of Irish life. Mr. 
Mathew has a delicacy of touch and a certain refinement that add to the value of 
his studies of Irish character.” — World. 

“ Ireland has found her Kipling and that is no small good fortune for her. . . . 
The very heart of Ireland beats in these stories. . . . There is a warm welcome 
in store for a dozen such books if they be as good as ‘ At the Rising of the Moon.’ ” 

— Bostofi Herald. 

” An attractive collection of Irish stories and studies. The Rev. Peter Flannery 
might have been one of Charles Lever’s characters. . . . All the tales are set in 
that minor key to which all true Irish melodies are attuned.” — The Churchman. 

“ The pages bear a ripple of genuine Hibernian feeling, both grave and gay ; and 
the printing and illustrations are excellent.” — Independent. 

‘‘True lovers of Ireland who are homesick for the smell of the ‘ould sod’ will 
find this book very much to their liking.” — Evening Telegraph, Philadelphia. 


The Soul of the Bishop. 

By John Strange Winter (Mrs. Arthur Stannard, 
F.R.S.L.). Handsomely* illustrated, with frontispiece of 
author. Cloth, 310 pages, i2mo, $1.25. Paper, 50c. 


An engrossing work which clergymen of all denominations— as well as laymen— 
will do well to read and carefully ponder. 

In her preface the author says: ‘‘I have tried to show how a reallv honest mind 
may, and, alas, too often does, suffer mental and moral shipwreck over those rocks 
which the Church allows to endanger the channel to a harbor never easy to navi- 
gate at any time.” 

‘‘ Both theme and motive are timely, and are artistically developed.” 

— Boston Daily Advertiser. 

‘‘ The book is a noteworthy protest against the retention of outgrown dogmas in 
the constitution of any church .” — Literary World. 

‘‘A book of unmistakable force. The situation is perfectly natural ' not an over- 
strained note appears in W'— Philadelphia Ledger. ' 


Cavali'^ Life in Tent^”^ Field 

BY 

MRS. ORSEMUS B. BOYD. 


12mo, Cloth f $1,00» Paper Binding, 50 cents. 


MORE FASCINATING THAN THE 

MOST SENSATIONAL FICTION. 


/\ N intensively interesting narrative of army frontier life 
^ in Nevada, California, Arizona, New Mexico and 
Texas, ending with the death of Captain Boyd from hard- 
ships endured while in pursuit of a band of marauding 
Apaches. It is also, incidentally, the story of a noble and 
stainless life, darkened at the outset by the shameful 

CRIME OF A BROTHER CADET AT WEST POINT, 


From Current Literature of June, 1894, 

Mrs. O. B. Boyd, the author of Cavalry Life in Tent and Field has 
had an experience of “roughing it” on the plains as the wife of a cavalry 
officer, such as has probably not fallen to the lot of any other tenderly 
nurtured woman. No one to look at Mrs. Boyd would imagine she had 
endured the hardships and dangers of frontier life for a period of fifteen 
years, and that a score and more of years ago she was a wanderer in the 
wilds of Arizona, in hourly terror of Indians, and so destitute of every 
element of comfort that in moving with her husband to far outlying 
military stations she was compelled, for security and comfort, to have 
her infant child carried upwards of a thousand miles in a champagne 
basket. It is safe to say that mentaljy and physically Mrs. Boyd has 
endured hardships which have not been surpassed in the experience 
of any American officer’s wife. * * * The book is a wonderful 

record of frontier life as seen through the eyes of a Cavalry officer’s wife. 
No more descriptive work has appeared in recent years, and apart from 
this the book has a value far beyond the mere skill of the narrative, as 
those who are acquainted with the melancholy history of the late 
Captain Boyd will readily understand. 


SANDOW’S 


Method of Physical Culture, 

FOR MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN. 

EDITED BY 

Capt. G. MERCER ADAM. 

A. isTEW TJ3srABiaii3C3-EX) EODiarioisr. 


A large Octavo^ Handsomely bound in cloth and embell- 
ished with SO superb half tone illustrations. 


Price S2.00. 



Every physician should study this book, every athlete 
should master its instructions, and every young person, 
male or female, can find in its pages valuable hints for the 
proper regulation of their daily routine. — The Spirit oj 
the Times. 

A handsome book, strikingly and beautifully illustra- 
ted. — New York Sun. 

A remarkably handsome volume with a profusion of 
Illustrations. — Boston Daily Advertiser. 

A splendid volume, superbly illustrated. Its illustra- 
tions are worth many times its cost. — Baltimore American. 

The reproduction of photographs of Mr. Sandow 
present outlines and dimensions that attain the classic. — 
Philadelphia Enquirer. 

We welcome just such a book as this, because it will 
stir the ambitions of tens of thousands. — N. V. Herald, 


The Green Bay Tree 


BY 

W, H, Wilkins and Herbert Vivian. 


389 pages, 12mo, cloth $1.00. Paper binding (KeniL 
worth Series) 50 cents. 


J^NDOUBTEDLY the most trenchant and brilliant^ as 
well as the most cynical work of fiction published durt?ig 
the present year . The style is as crisp and cUptivating as that 
of John Oliver Hobbes" in A JB^Pildlo of Life* 

The chief representative of the ungodly^ — who flourish 
like the Green Bay Tree of Scripture — is a rather pleasing 
viliain in the form of a young man gifted with a polished ex- 
terior and address^ but utterly devoid of conscience. This 
young man has the rare advantage of thoroughly knowing him- 
self from the outset^^and from the time he enters Harrow 
School until he becomes a Member of Parliament, unhandt 
capped throughout by any suggestion of principle, he exhibits a 
market aptitude for getting on by very worldly methods, at the 
expense of everybody and everything which can in any way 
contribute to his success, be the cost what it may to them. 

The moral of the book goes to shoiv that so far as suc- 
cess in this world is concerned. Godliness will not ensure it in 
a contest with those unweighted by scruple of any kind, unless, 
indeed, a good spice of worldly wisdom is added. 


“ The Publishers are anticipating a success, I have read 
the advance sheets of the book, and I can see why they feel as 
they do about iC JEANETTE L. GILDER in the N. V 
WORLD. 


THE 


UpTEBipEI^ED Wlp. 

BY 

JOANNA E. WOOD. 


12)no. Clothe $1.00; l^ajyev hUiding^ 50c. 


Miss Wood’s book describes the sacrifices of a 
heroic woman in defense of an unworthy object, 
and the refinement of cruelty which the false 
position which she occupies entails upon herself 
is depicted with a skill of delineation which makes 
this work not unworthy of being ranked with 
Hawthorne’s “Scarlet Letter .” — Philadelphia 
Press. 

Miss Wood is a new writer, but she bids fair to 
take a very high rank in the world of letters. In 
her portrayal of village life and character she is 
not surpassed among modern writers, 


A SEVENTH CHILD. 

BY 

JOHN STRANGE WINTER, 

Author of “ Booties’ Baby,” “ Soul of the Bishop,” Etc. 


i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. Paper binding, 50c. 


John Strange Winter’s novels always receive a 
hearty welcome wherever the English language is 
spoken. This new novel, entitled “A Seventh 
Child,” is a masterpiece and will add to the 
author’s brilliant reputation. The story is com- 
plicated and its interest intensified by the intro- 
duction of a heroine, who — as the Seventh Child 
— is endowed with the “uncanny” gift of second 
sight. The possessor of that weird quality is a 
source of vast apprehension to the characters in 
the book as well as to the readers. The book will 
stir the leaven of superstition in the breast of all 
who read it. 


]^thletic^"PhiJ?!icalGultDi'e 

BY 

THEO. C. KNAUFF. 


Cloth 12mo, pp, 4:4:2, Illustrations 114. Price $2.00 


The work is profusely illustrate J with characteristic and interestin'^ 
figures. It is marked by evidence of much practical knowledge. — JVezu 
York Times. 

The author has enrolled himself among the benefactors of mankind. 
He furnishes valuableinformationupon gymnasium work, cycling, archery, 
field sports and out-door sports generally, d he book should be read by 
everyone desiring a body harmoniously develcped. — Public Opinion. 

The Illustrations are as diversified as the text and both are excel- 
lent. — New York Telegram. 

The book covers the whole field of athletic exercises. — Philadelphia 
Enquirer. 

One can seldom find a book which more concisely and clearly 
covers the whole broad field, than does this volume of Mr. Knauff’s. — 
Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

A book which those interested in the training and development of 
the human body will find of the greatest value. — Boston Daily Adver- 
tiser. 


This book is the most complete and comprehensive, 
the most intelligent and the most valuable work of its 
kind ever published. There is no branch of athletics and 
no pastime upon which it does not speak authoritatively 
The attitude of the author towards his subject may be 
described in his opening remark: *‘If the reader wants 
to know how to get exercise which will enable 
him to do more work in working hours by means of 
more play in play hours that is exactly what we 
propose to tell him. 





THE UNTEMPERED WIND. 

BY 

JOANNA E. WOOD. '' 

i2mo, cloth, $1.00 ; in paper cover (Tait’s Illustrated Series) 50c. 


A NEW CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 

This is the first book of a young author who in her initial step 
takes a place in the front rank of living writers of fiction. In the 
seclusion of her Canadian home she has written a work fully as 
remarkable in its way as the “Jane Eyre “ of Charlotte Bronte, and 
there is no doubt that “The Untempered Wind” will promptly 
take its place among the best standard novels of the century. 

In describing the bitter persecution of a pure woman forced 
into a false position by her mistaken fidelity to an unworthy object, 
Miss Wood manifests a delicate sureness of touch, a keenness of 
perception, a skill of analysis and a. manifest knowledge of her sub- 
ject such as is not surpassed by any living writerln the works with 
which we are familiar. 

Every sentence of the book tells, and it may safely be said that 
not even Hawthorne himself in his “ Scarlet Letter ” excels this 
young author in knowledge and treatment of the bitterness of 
village persecution under conditionsTavorable to its exercise. 


J. SELWm TAIT & SONS, 65 Fifth Avenue, N. Y. 


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